


Northern Skies

by FoxtrotBravoAlpha



Category: Project Wingman (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Tragedy, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Fighter Pilots, Gen, Tragedy, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:08:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 29,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28727115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxtrotBravoAlpha/pseuds/FoxtrotBravoAlpha
Summary: A mercenary from Prey Security leads his team, Hawk, though their involvement in the Cascadian War of Independence. Through their missions, secrets are revealed and pasts are brought to bear.
Kudos: 7





	1. Red Shouldered - Part 1

Evening sunlight perforated the blinds to the mercenary’s right as the sounds of two pens rapidly leaving black ink on paperwork filled the offices, almost completely devoid of life. In the distance, a group of cheery mercs, or soldiers, undoubtedly made their way towards one of the numerous bars on base. The taste of alcohol flashed through his mind with envy for a second, stopping his hand from its flowing movement of writing the mundane words and signatures of proper forms. An idle glance towards his left revealed the miniscule amount of papers that remained. _Only seven more forms,_ he thought. _Just seven from freedom._

“Marcus… Mar-cus! Earth to airhead, you there?” The man across from him called out. “Don’t be staring off into space just yet, buddy. We’ve only got a handful of forms left, so keep the hops off your mind until their hittin’ your tongue, alright?”

Marcus shook his head as he got back to writing, his wrist protesting with pain. “Yea, yea… Hard not to think about, haven’t drunk for a while- especially with the rest of the team.” He moved his hand like lightning down to the bottom of the paper and signed his signature.

“I still can’t believe you went sober after we got leadership of Hawk Team. It’s almost like you died for a while and you’re just now coming back to the land of the living. Shit, Garry’s jaw dropped when I told him you’d be coming with us tonight.” The man across from Marcus leaned back in his chair, taking the last form he had and placed it on top of the large stack of others.

“Pft, of course he would. Wonder how many stories he’s gotten to tell since I stopped drinkin’?” Another flash of pen movements and paper occurred, indentations being made on the grip of the writing tool. Four more forms to go. “That damned boot never did learn to not flub them when I was around.”

“Not too many, surprisingly. Though he’s probably just missing the bullshit that came with telling them, with you not being there and all. Though you don’t have any room to talk since you used to do the same thing for a while.” A nostalgic and knowing grin came across the man’s face.

“Bite my fuckin’ ass, Andy. I was green and so were you back then. I just… nevermind.” The last sheet of paper quickly got placed to the center of Marcus’s desk by his own hand and found itself with all of the empty fields filled out before being put in a stack on Marcus’s own desk. “Has that damned horndog Benard been behaving himself at the bar at least? I know he was giving Virginia shit, but something tells me that woman’s patience is best left untested.”

“Oh yea, he’s been fine. Ironically, Virginia’s managed to keep him sat down pretty well. He hasn’t been giving her much shit at all at the bar, surprisingly. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that they’re behaving like friends.” Andy said.

“Friends? Those two? They’re like mirror opposites of each other, I’ll be surprised she hasn’t just threatened him while off duty and just keeps him in line that way. But I guess they have been flying pretty well together.” Marcus stood up and stretched his legs as much as he could, getting an eye full of evening sun as he did. “Come on, let’s get this fuckin’ paperwork submitted and get to the bar.”

“Way ahead of you, slowpoke.” Marcus’s wingman simply took up his bundled stack of papers and began making his way to the office of whatever poor bastards had to sort it out. However, he himself stuck around for just a moment, taking in the surroundings of the large office space around him.

The smell of the dregs of coffee, dried out in the bottom of a mug, lingered around the room while the evening sun continued to sink. Every other chair and desk was empty, void of their usual occupants and the clock crept ever closer to the end of the hour. _This shit can’t be any more tiring,_ he thought. _Wish I was told leading would involve this much writing._

A deep breath of exhaustion came from his lungs after a moment watching the small bits and pieces of dust float around, then his hands moved like they always had so frequently over the past… months? Year? It was honestly hard to remember right then, but he still knew that it had just been a while. His papers were bundled up and set before he took his mug that held coffee earlier that day and made his way for the same office that Andy had. A simple thud of a large amount of papers is all that preceded his jog to the first floor down the ever familiar stairs before he met Andy again and left the building just behind him.

“Took you long enough, Marc. Didn’t know you were turning into Wisp.” Andy remarked.

“Fuck off, Andy, you’re older than me, so don’t even start with the ‘old man’ bullshit.” Marcus gave a small smile as he shook his head and joined his wingman in the walking . The fairly moderate air temperature was refreshing, posing a sharp juxtaposition against the normally warm air that came from the Dustlands. And Marcus always enjoyed the walks to the bar, but it was always hard to keep his mind off of his team after finishing the weekly paperwork which naturally resulted in bouncing those thoughts and concerns off of his wingman or even just asking him what he thought.

“So, how do you think Fis- er, Sutton’s taken to playing with a team better than being a freelancer? He seemed to do pretty well on the sorties a couple weeks ago out in the Dustlands, but you’ve always been the better judge of character.” He had come to rely on Andy for things like this specifically- perhaps too much.

“Well, judging by everyone’s inputs after the debrief, he did fairly good all things considered. He’s taken to ground pounding quite well, better than air-to-air if the training indicates anything.” Andy shrugged his shoulders. “Still, I think you should have let him get picked up by Vulture. I’m not sure why you even recommended him for us in the first place.”

“I recommended him because he can do air-to-air just fine and we kinda needed someone at least halfway decent with air-to-ground to help round us out, even if we are meant to be mainly air focused.”

“And yet he still hasn’t really adapted too well to the F/C-15 for either job. Should have just let him keep the MG-29 he had when he joined and sent him somewhere else. Like I’ve said the last couple times we’ve talked about this.” Andy said.

_Not this again…_

“Look, I know he’s rough with his dogfighting and BVR, but I _know_ he’s got potential. His skill is great with ground work, but you know just as well as I do that he’s got the stuff- he’s aggressive with his fighting style and I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone take to wingman tactics like him and Lancaster have. His solo fighting needs some work, yes, but he’s got it in him. Besides…” A small grunt emanated from the flight lead as he took two steps at a time up the small wooden steps to the platform outside of the bar entrance, some loud music playing through the closed doors. Turning around, he says “You know full well that I meant his compatibility with the others, not his flying.”

“He ‘plays’ just fine with the others, I just wish you’d pay more attention to his flying rather than his personality or how well he gets along with others because you and I know that isn’t the only thing that matters, Marcus.”

“I know, I know… But skill is something that’s a lot more malleable than compatibility. Eagle team learned that the hard way, remember?”

Andy stepped up the stairs in a pedestrian manner, a single step at a time while speaking. “Yea, I do, but my point still stands. He needs to pick up the slack or else he’ll start lagging behind and then we’ll have a bigger problem than Eagle had. Just make sure it doesn’t weigh us down too much or else we’ll pay the price for it in the future. Now, let’s get some damned drinks before we end up standing out here for half an hour.”

Music poured out of the doorway as the pair pushed through the doors and into the rowdy crowd of mercenaries and Rzeki servicemen, their boots making distinct sounds as they walked on the polished wooden floor. Eventually, they found their way to the bar where the rest of Hawk was waiting and, as always, were loudly talking. Hawk’s number 3, Garry, was telling a story that had been told a few too many times to everyone on the team save for the two most recent additions to their team, Johnny and Lionel.

“So, there I was, chasing this Union F/D-14 down all on my lonesome.” _Oh god, he’s not telling that story again, is he?_ Marcus thought, while Garry kept on going. “He kept on jinking left and right trying to get me to overshoot, but I matched him for every step and every swing as we desce-”

Johnny, after possibly hearing more than a couple stories before this one, finally retorted. “Oh, come on! You can’t really expect us to believe _all_ of that is true. And doesn’t an F/D-14 normally beat out an F/C-15 in a dogfight?”

“Hey, Marcus, tell Lancaster here that the story about us fighting over the western border with the UAS was true! He doesn’t believe it, man!”

“Well,” a grin crept across Marcus’s face while he stopped walking to speak. “Did you leave out the part where me ‘n Andy had to save your ass twice during that engagement because you got too far from the rest of the team? Or what about the point where you had nearly lawn darted into the ground while chasing a target because you weren’t paying attention?”

“Hey! That ain’t true at all, I was fully aware of my altitude and I didn’t even get that close to the ground!”  
  
“Oh, so is that why you screamed like a little girl?” Reaching the bar, he half-heartedly slapped Garry’s back and let his grin grow into a wide smile.

“Yea, like you’ve never tunnel visioned on a bandit before. What about when you chased that fuckin’ F/D-14 for two minutes?”

“The difference between my engagement and yours is that I didn’t need help with my bandit. Besides, it was the last one in the AO un-”

Andy interjected. “Until another set of eight showed up, yea, I remember. Wisp cleaned up most of them by the time you got your target and got your head out of your ass.”

Marcus rolled his eyes a little in response. “Yea, I know, we all got an earful after that. Hell, I don’t think I’d seen Wisp’s face get so fuckin’ red before or even yell that loudly. It’s like someone just took a can of paint and threw it on him. Scary as hell.”

“Yep. His face was just about as red as your hair. It was always hard to piss him off. Was… I will miss him, though.” Andy’s voice got muffled as he drank from the water that was still untouched by Garry.

“Jesus, you talk about him like he’s dead. The old man just retired a while ago and fucked off to a farm somewhere.” _Not that I don’t know_ **_where_ ** _, but that’s not something to let my lips get loose about._

“Yeeep, he always did run a tight ship, that damned ghost. Hope he’s doing well, though.” Dyno, meanwhile, had just finished the entirety of his second glass of water. “Hey boss, you hear anything about the shit going on way out west on the coast by the way? Apparently there’s plenty of unrest for our ever-lovely neighbors in Cascadia over the Feds.”

“Yea, I have. And no, I don’t think we’re headed out there. You ain’t the first to bring it up and you certainly ain’t the first to ask. Now, I believe we have everyone.” Marcus scratched his stubble as he moved a chair and took a seat at the bar, kicking the same spot in the wood of it that he and his predecessors always have in order to get the bartender’s attention.

With a simple nod from the old man tending the customers, eight bottles of beer were loudly set onto the bar in their usual arrangement and position for the pilots. Every member of Hawk wrapped up whatever conversation they were having and took hold of their respective beers, cool and wet with condensation, and prepared to open them all together, as was tradition. The purpose behind the wait for all members to be present and ready was to make sure the team couldn’t be sent out in piecemeal for a contract, though it had bitten them in the ass more than once before.

And it was about to bite them in the ass again.

“Alright, Hawk. Time for our night!” Marcus bellowed, popping off the cap of his beer in near harmony with the rest of his team. Just before everyone took their first sips, Marcus interrupted his fellow pilots with a hand that immediately shifted into a finger as a phone began to ring, getting a remark of “Pft, of course.” from Dyno. He moved swiftly through the crowd once more and pushed outside of the doors at the front of the bar, finally taking his company phone and looking at the screen which displayed a single name: Gen. Christopher Rodriguez.

_‘Ohhhhh-’_

“Fuck...”


	2. Red Shouldered - Part 2

A flurry of pilots in tan flight suits followed Marcus as he waded through a myriad of military personnel, all dressed in either proper uniforms or military garbs of arid camo, on their way through the offices of the Rzeki military, now bathed in the stark orange sunlight of the mid-evening. There was plenty of murmuring coming from Hawk Team as he led them, mostly surrounding the apparent mystery of what the job would be this time. Another two weeks in the Dustlands? Or perhaps the eastern border was starting to get hot again and they needed them for another border conflict?

_ Or maybe, just maybe _ \- “What if it’s the bullshit going on out west, in Cascadia?” Garry asked.

Marcus had already thought about it, but he didn’t like what it’d entail. “I don’t know, Dyno, but whatever it is was important enough for us to get called out here like this, especially by the General.”

Andy interjected. “We’ll find out in a bit, so guessing is pretty worthless at this point. Just keep your heads straight until we get there.”

“Okay,  _ dad _ .” Garry gave his response with the obvious tone of mockery that one would give to their own parent, made to dig at Andy’s fatherhood. The only response audible to Marcus was a low  **thwack** and the subdued “ _ Ow! _ ” from Garry afterwards.  _ Less like a father and son, more like an uncle and nephew, _ he thought.

The thuds from their boots echoed through the narrow hallway he found himself navigating like he had a number of times before. Plaques on either side flashed by of varying ranks and names- the occasional Major, Colonels, and the handful of Generals whose offices resided in this building. Then, like clockwork, he found their destination.

Without even knocking, Marcus took a hold of the door knob and opened it as he watched his pilots all filed in before he rounded the door and entered the threshold to the office of one General Christopher Rodriguez. There was a moment of silence where each pilot sought out a place to sit, or stand up against the wall after all of the seats had been taken, and Marcus took his usual spot standing in front of the General’s wooden desk. Again, there was a couple seconds of silence before Marcus began.

“General, apologies for being a tad late with our arrival, but this  _ is _ our night for drinking, sir… I believe you said you have a contract for us?”

A small entertained exhale came from the general as he prepared to give his answer. “Yes, I’m well aware of your tendencies Mr. Abrams, I’ve gone with your team on escapades like that before your time, but that’s then and this is now.” The General paused for a moment, as if remembering something from a long time ago before snapping back to the present only a second or later. “Yes, I do have a contract for you and it is quite urgent, hence why I wanted you here immediately.”

The general leaned back into his chair and brought a small set of papers onto his desk, as he always did with contracts, but broke from habit and looked intently at Marcus first, rather than the papers in front of him.

“Mr. Abrams, this contract will be possibly the most consequential one given to Prey Security since the establishment of our country 20 years ago and the subsequent signing of your company to our nation since then. So, I need your utmost attention with this, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir. You have our ears.”  _ Please, don’t be going where I think you’re going? _

“Excellent. Now, I’m sure you’ve heard about the unrest in Cascadia and the rumors surrounding it - more specifically it having boiled over into a full on rebellion… To be absolutely clear, it has in every sense of the word. Because of this, a large number of mercenary freelancers along with some entire companies have begun to make their way to Cascadia to fight with the rebels against the Federation.” He quickly set out the papers so as to allow Marcus to see them. “And I don’t think I need to tell you what this war means for us as a periphery nation should they fail. Thus, the Rzeki Federal Republic has seen fit to erm, how did they say it…  _ ‘allow’ _ Prey to take up a contract to join the fight as well. We would have offered it to Eagle Team, however they’ve recently taken up a different contract for the Creole Republic, so now we’re offering it to your team.”

_ Fuck me, he did... _

The flight lead drew breath to think before speaking, but someone else beat him to the response. “Well, nice to know who’s the first choice for important stuff around here…” which earned Garry, a quick and sharp stare from most in the room, resulting in him shrinking from the normally rowdy pilot that he was. “Sorry…”

Marcus spoke. “Well, we’d be happy to take up this contract, General, but is there anything you can actually tell us before we say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or are we just gonna go where we’re told and operate from there?”

“No, unfortunately not. All that I can tell you is that you’ll go where you’re needed and engage and attack what you’re told to, within limitations at your discretion. The contract will last for the duration of the war until you’re victorious, sustain too many losses, or the war takes a turn for the worst. And you’ll be getting money from both us  _ and _ the Cascadians, should you think the normal pay be insufficient. Lastly, there can’t be any mention of us contracting you to do this. Your maintenance crew will be briefed within the next ten minutes should you accept.”

“Well…” For a brief moment, Hawk’s lead took stock of his pilots and the information he had just been fed.

_ ‘The Federation isn’t something to shake a stick at, but it’d be nice to stick it to those rat bastards- and the pay would be pretty good as well… The better question is are we ready for something like this?...’ _ His face scrunched up for a moment while thinking, once more looking over his pilots in consideration, before coming to a conclusion and his answer.

_ Yes, we are. _ He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before speaking again.

“General, when do we head out?”


	3. Red Shouldered - Part 3

“One hour! One fucking hour! Why did we only get one hour to get ready?! He really couldn’t have waited any longer to send us?” Abrams made a concerted attempt to keep Garry’s temper in check, but failed two hours into the flight thanks to him not taking the go-pills they needed for a long trip like this, leaving him feeling exhausted thanks to the time of day and his efforts. As a consequence, the team had been listening to Page’s ranting for longer than what really should have been allowed and although some tried to calm him down, none were successful. The frustration from the yelling over the radio got Hawk 1 awake all the same.

“Put a fucking sock in it, Dyno! If I have to hear you bitch for another minute, I’m gonna eject just to hop on your fucking plane and punch you in the throat, I swear to god!” Adrenaline had begun pumping into his blood before the response and he spoke in a tone only used when they were in combat or if someone really stepped on his toes. The response?

Complete silence.

“Jesus, you know that we had to be on short notice if Eagle didn’t take it, that’s just how shit like this is. Whether we like it or not, we took that contract and stepped into a war with the Federation in Cascadia, so we had no choice but to go as soon as we were asked. No, we didn’t get to pack like we normally do for long term contracts, but I’d rather us get out here sooner rather than later so as to not miss out on this. Besides, it’s not like you’re gonna lose a bunch of shit if you don't bring it with you - it ain’t gonna sprout legs and just fuck off… God damnit…”

Andy’s microphone keyed on over the radio and an inhale of air was heard before the microphone stopped transmitting, whatever words that were about to be said now abandoned. _Now I’ve really gone and done it, haven’t I?_ Marcus thought.

Everyone else in Hawk stayed quiet for a moment before Marcus keyed his own microphone. “Say what you were gonna say, Rubber.” He looked over to his wingman’s F/S-15 and got a look back before hearing the radio crackle to life again.

“Taurus is right, we were given a short notice on it and I can only imagine the panic for our ground crew given they got even less time than us. We’ll be fine with or without our more personal items… And real quick, Taurus, switch freq. Need to say something.”

Marcus quickly adjusted his radio to the frequency they use to speak privately before - “Yea Andy, what is it?”

“For the love of god, don’t blow up like that again. It’s different when it’s warranted - when someone fucks up and we’re on the ground, but you just blew up on him because you’re exhausted. You may be my flight lead, but I’m also your wingman and I’m not gonna let you do that shit again, yea?”

“Yea…” The scolding from his friend, practically brother, sank in with the guilt that was already lingering from what he had said, though was still a bit bitter for it. _No wonder why you get called ‘dad’ nowadays…_

“Switching back.”

With a deep sigh, Marcus mimicked his wingman and set his radio for the team’s frequency, only to hear a minor panic over the radio with Garry’s voice prevailing over the others. “Taurus. Taurus! You really need to hear this!”

“Calm down, calm down! Dyno, what’s going on?” Marcus responded.

“We’re getting contacted by a Federation Patrol and they are _not_ fucking happy we’re here.”

“Wonderful… Alright, let me talk to them. I _knew_ we should have gone further north…”

Two hands moved like lightning inside of his cockpit as he tuned to meet contact with the approaching Federation units being immediately met with a transmission. “Attention unknown contacts, this is Green Squadron, do you read?”

“Affirmative Green Squadron, this is-”

“Good enough. Unknown flight, reverse your heading and proceed out of Federation airspace or you will be fired upon. I repeat, if you do not turn back, you will be shot down. This is your only warning. Out.”

The immediate cutoff got his blood boiling again. “Oh, fuck off… Hawk, prepare for combat.” He paused for a moment, assessing the enemies in front of them… “12 contacts spread out across our 10:30 to 2 o’clock in sets of four along with another large aircraft that’s flashing a Federation IFF tag - probably an AWACS. Loosen into a forward combat formation, adjust to angles 22, and arm. Catnip, Plank, protect the transport. Everyone else, engage the closest group to you, understood?”

A flood of confirmations came from his team as they adjusted and rose in altitude, leaving the transport behind them with two of their four F/C-15s, hopefully keeping it out of the fight. The rest of them, four F/S-15s and two F/C-15s shaped up their enemies: eight F/C-16s and four F/C-15s. Outnumbered 2:1, but Hawk knew where the skill advantage was at.

For a moment, only breathing could be heard from Marcus’s cockpit as the two sides slowly got into range, drawing contrails over the mountainous terrain as they cruised. The Federation units crept into range, the numbers ticking down on the HUD at a fast pace before both a missile lock and warning tone sounded simultaneously into Marcus’s ears. He quickly dropped his nearly empty external fuel tanks and fired off four MLAAs at the approaching formation of F/C-15s while screaming “Fox 3! Fox 3!” and threw his throttle onnto afterburner to maneuver.

White streaks were painted across the evening skies over Cascadia’s mountains.


	4. Red Shouldered - Part 4

Two fireballs marked the beginning of the fight at hand while two sets of contrails weaved away from the burst of flames that were once their allies, making for what should be easy prey for Marcus and his wingman, once their own evasive maneuvers were completed. The two other pairs of Hawk Team broke off from the loose formation and headed for their respective target groups leaving their own contrails and afterburner exhaust tracing their paths.

The twist and turn Marcus’s evasive maneuver entailed ended up making him a prime target for the surviving hostile F/C-15s to bear his nose on him while his wingman gave chase to the other, leaving him alone. This was a mistake for the enemy. Letting himself fall into old habits for once, the flight lead bore his nose to match the oncoming Federation fighter and patiently waited for the range to close as he once more watched the green numbers of the range indicator continuously drop.

The ever familiar tone of a heatseeker lock began perforating his ear drums, but he ignored it, and apparently so did the other pilot, as the numbers got lower. 7,000… 6,000… 

_Come on, show me those pearly whites…_ 5,000… 4,000. “Guns, guns, guns!”

The mercenary’s F/S-15 rolled over with its cockpit to the ground and spit hell from its gunpod, spewing a flash of 20mm rounds towards the F/C-15 while their burst was just beginning to make its way out of the barrels of its cannon. The red lights of the cockpit lit up the rest of the small space as the sun was obscured by the underside of the aircraft, Taurus pulling as hard as he could on the stick and resisting the high Gs that darkened his vision. Though he was sure that he’d get a kill from his gambit, both bursts missed their respective targets, forcing the situation to quickly devolve into a classic dogfight. _Gotta be kidding me…_

As he pulled out of the maneuver and began leveling out, instinct kicked in and told Marcus to seek out his wingman and get help to avoid letting himself get further into his tunnel vision, but as he scrambled to check for him, he found Andy in a dogfight of his own - there being only them and the two remaining Federation F/C-15s. The enemy took advantage of this momentary slip and managed to get a short burst off towards him as he finished looking, which caused him to curse and roll opposite the stream of cannon rounds.

_Close. Need to finish this and stop being a fool,_ echoed through Marcus’s mind.

Thinking quickly, he opened up his airbrake and began making a hard turn right, once more throwing himself into a high-G turn and forcing a rolling scissors upon his opponent and locking his eyes onto the other pilot once it began. Although his enemy initially held the advantage in the beginning of the maneuver thanks to their position, Marcus’s aircraft held the superior maneuverability and that fact rapidly made itself apparent. One pass had the F/C-15 behind, then the next had it closer, then nearly perfectly even with each other, and finally barely out in front - _just_ out of reach. The next pass led to his opponent maintaining his turn and exiting the dance that the two were locked in for that brief moment.

Swivelling his head, he yanked on the stick to bring his nose to the same bearing and tracked the F/C-15 down to a lower altitude, the sustained turn further demonstrating the advantage an F/S-15 had over its predecessor. Eventually, his nose reached the angle-of-attack required for a heatseeker lock that was indicated by the signature growl. The growl grew more intense as he gained a good launch angle, thinking _Just a little longer, then you’ll have him…_ Once his fighter’s nose was obscuring the enemy, his thumb put pressure on the red button that rested on his flight stick, and launched the rabid dog of a missile.

It drew a straight line for but a split second before violently tracking fully onto its target and cutting an aggressive curve into the sky, swiftly reaching its prey. A bright orange explosion once more displayed itself within the late evening sky, quickly giving way to the torn, mangled, and burning wreck that began plummeting towards the mountainous terrain below. _Three._

After gazing at the fireball for a moment, Marcus regained his reading of the larger battle at hand and quickly found his wingman who had just bagged his own kill marking the defeat of the formation of F/C-15s, leaving the two flights of F/C-16s left over for Hawk, one of those groups already being nearly finished.

Shifting his nose upwards and wasting no time in getting to a higher altitude again, he checked the radar in his cockpit and assessed the two battles that were waging on either side of him at a fair distance, along with the still lingering F/C-8 further off yet. Dyno and Remy were faring just fine judging by the two targets left near them and their placement, but Bones and Fish were still tangling with their targets with only one of the four initial bandits missing from radar.

“Rubber, this is Taurus, form up on my left and we’ll go assist Bones and Fish. Looks like those Falcons managed to swarm them,” Marcus keyed.

“Roger, forming up. You think Dyno and Remy will be able to handle theirs?” Some concern present in Andy’s voice.

“They’ll be fine, they always are.” Marcus gave a glance towards the aforementioned pilots, seeing he was right as a line of tracers emerged from one of the aircraft in the distance with a confirmed kill being called over the radio soon after, assuring his assessment.

The two lead pilots of Hawk adjusted their bearing and opened up the throttle to get to their pilots who were nearly impossible to see thanks to the intense orange light from the setting sun, but fortunately weren’t too far away. Much to their glee, there were only two F/C-16s left once they got into range with the two friendly F/C-15s who were still kicking as well, but both were being chased by their respective dance partners. 

A single glance from his wingman, giving a “I told you so” look prompted Marcus to shake his head and switch his targeting back to the MLAAs on his aircraft. “Bones, Fish, get ready to bait your targets into a climb on my mark.”

There was a short pause as both of the F/C-15s kept maneuvering well enough to dodge the fire from their pursuers, but not to reverse their fortunes. There was a bit of disappointment in his mind, but he pushed it down as the tone of locks for his MLAAs filled his ears once again. “Break now! Fox 3!”

In an instant, the two desperate friendlies soared straight up as “Fox 3!” was once more called out over the radio and, again, a set of smoke trails was generated from the orange glow of the rocket engines as the missiles were set loose from Marcus’s fighter to paint the sky.

_Come on, come on… Papa needs a bullseye…_

The two radar guided missiles found their marks after what seemed like a small eternity, cruising through the air to their doomed targets. The two fireballs erupted and hung in the air for a time before inevitably plummeting back down to the ground while the two friendly F/C-15s escaped from their now fully cooked pursuers. “Rubber, confirming two more splashed for Taurus. That’s five total.” 

_Another ace, huh?_ Marcus thought. “Okay, one last target. Rubber, on me. Let’s splash that F/C-8 and wrap this up.” Together, the two F/S-15s turned with only their rudders and began a short chase against the now fleeing enemy AWACS. It seemed picturesque for a moment as they closed in, with the nearly-set sun off to their right and his wingman on his left. It’d be a good time for pictures if they didn’t have a war to fight.

Taurus gazed out towards the escaping AWACS and watched it for a moment, getting lost before the ringing tone of a lock on from his radar brought him back. _Sorry buddy, but we can’t let you get away._ An honest but tiny pang of guilt pulsed through the head under his helmet as he laid his thumb on the button of his flight stick. “Taurus, Rubber, Fox 3.”

For the final time in the now dimming sunlight, one missile each from their aircraft detached from their hardpoints and ignited their rockets. Two small orange lights with streaks of white lingering behind, surged forward and a nigh-simultaneous pair explosions indicated the demise of their target. A soft, but increasingly aggressive curve was the last path the AWACS craft would trace, but neither Andy nor Marcus stuck around to see it as they adjusted their aircraft to form up with the rest of their team and the transport.

Marcus couldn’t help but glance back one last time. _Sorry._

With only a single, long sigh, Marcus keyed his microphone. “Okay… everybody check in. Taurus and Rubber, green.”

“Dyno and Remy, green.”

“Jesus, we cut that too close… Bones and Fish, green.”

“Catnip and Plank, green and bored out of our skulls.”

“Hmph, maybe next time Catnip, I’ll send you out against a flight all on your lonesome if you’re that desperate for action, it’d be the most you’ve ever gotten from what I’ve heard around base…” A brief chuckle or two was heard over the radio before Marcus continued, including from Catnip. “Well, good job everyone, form up with the transport. We’ll tally our kills and stores once we do.”

A small stream of suppressed celebratory noises and sighs of relief came through the headset in Marcus’s helmet as they all reformed in front of their transport aircraft that held their maintenance team and immediate spare parts for their long deployment ahead. The fight could have gone better, but it could have gone far, far worse. But for now, he was happy to just cruise some more.

Half an hour later of discussion, small talk, and then ultimately silence followed the short battle that had taken place, but it didn’t last forever. A hail from another radio frequency sounded and, preparing to be rudely addressed by another Federation unit, he switched over to the frequency with a prepared venom in his throat. “Attention unknown aircraft: ‘come to me, all you who are weary and burdened’.”

With a single sentence, that venom disappeared and was replaced by a sigh of relief. _God, it’s about time._

“‘And I will give you rest’.”

“Welcome Hawk, this is Stardust. We’re gonna have to direct you to a temporary airfield for the time being as the original airbase we wanted you at is currently at full capacity. Adjust your heading for 270, it’ll be around 200 miles out, airfield Tok. Just make a hail on this frequency once you get within 40 miles and they’ll guide you in. You copy all that?”

“Roger, we copy. Thanks for the heads up Stardust, Hawk out.” The desert-splinter camo aircraft all began adjusting in unison, once more chasing the sun.


	5. Red Shouldered - Part 5

Touching down at AF Tok was something that almost any pilot in Prey could have done- a textbook runway with a sizable clearing on each end and a fairly long tarmac, at least for the size of the base, to boot. But what no member of Prey was prepared for what they were met with as they opened up their canopies and bays: the cold temperatures.

Every member detached from Prey Security, from Marcus as the flight lead to the lowest ranking mechanic, was shivering their proverbial asses off as they came off of the tarmac from their aircraft and into the small set of buildings. Most of the people from Prey had little to no experience with temperatures below what could be referred to as “cool” or “kinda cold” thanks to the normal weather patterns from where most of their members hailed - those from the Dustlands suffering the most. Except for Benard, thanks to his life in the UAS.

Of course, he was gloating about it. “What is it, boss? Can’t handle a little chill?”

“Fuck off. Your Union ass is the only one here in Prey who’s even worked in stuff like this, let alone live in it.” Marcus retorted.

“Hey, your loss, Rzeki. Not my fault your only playground was the Dustlands. Besides, weather like this makes beds comfy as hell. Wonder how comfy it’d be with someone else…” The eyes of Benard Kinsman went off and trailed towards the tall, thin trees and distant mountains that surrounded the small airfield while a small grin came across his face, the setting sun highlighting it.

Without missing a beat, Marcus picked up on his intentions and made sure to do what he did best: give him shit. “Oh? Think you’re gonna be able to catch tail out here? If your performance back home is anything to go by, you’re gonna really make that callsign of yours stick, Catnip.” When he reached the door and placed his hand upon the handle, he turned back to Kinsman and smiled. “Besides, it’s going to be almost all guys here, if not all guys - save of course for Plank, but she knows well enough to tune out your charm… Hmph, well, lack thereof at least.”

A hearty chuckle flowed from the both of them, knowing how the song and dance went no matter where they were. “Yea, you just keep on like that, boss. We all know you’re jealous of my incredible charms.~” Once more, sarcasm filled the air as the pilot who was just earlier looking at the surroundings of Hark Valley shivered after a sharp wave of cold wind cut through both of them. “Okay, this shit is actually starting to get to me. Let’s get the fuck inside.” Marcus just laughed harder as his fellow merc rushed inside with him where Andy was there waiting for him.

“Taurus, as good as bonding with the others is, we have a contract to sign before we can settle in and the crews can’t move in until we get the ink on the paper.” His arms were folded up across his chest, much like he’d have them back at home. “The Colonel’s waiting.”

Marcus took a moment to slap Benard on the back and warm up next to a small electrical heater while answering. “Yea, lets get that over with. The faster we get this done, the faster we can hit the hay. You wanna take point or am I gonna get us lost this time?”

“I already asked around, so no aimless wandering for us on this one. Come on.” Without missing a beat, Andy exited the barracks and began to make his way toward a small, office-like building with Marcus catching up following closely behind, getting the unwelcome cold against his face again. _Fuck me, this cold can bite my ass._ “While I talked up some of the CIF guys here, they mentioned that the Colonel here doesn’t like mercs too much, so we best tread carefully. Apparently he’s had experience with them before.”

Both of their breaths became visible again as Marcus joined his right hand pilot at his side, both men quickly stuffing their hands in whatever pockets they had. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. We’re professionals for cryin’ out loud, not every merc mook that comes around is a bloodthirsty shitbird- even he would have to realize that.”

“Hell, tell that to the Feds, seeing how they view people like us after Oceania.” A huff of air came and went, originating from Andy as he continued walking in sync with Marcus. “At least by the sounds of it, he isn’t going to give us complete shit since we’re gonna be fighting for them. But we should at least try to keep from stepping on his toes.”

“So, business as always then, sounds easy enough. Guess the main concern is if we’re ready for something like this if it goes south considering how badly this whole war can go. I can’t help but think about Wisp’s stories about Oceania and how much of a cluster fuck that was.”

“And that’s exactly what I think we’re all hoping to avoid, but Dustmother knows how this war will go… I guess all that I know is that we ought to pray hard and fight harder.” Finally, they reached the door and entered the building, the wingman leading the flight lead.

“Mhm…” _If only it were that easy, brother._

Slowly, Marcus took in the entrance and failed to find the officer that Andy spoke about. Not seeing any hit of where the Colonel could be, he turns to ask a man sitting in a chair as he stares out a window. “Excuse me, we’re looking for the base commander?”

Without a word, the man turned to look and seemingly inspected Andy and Marcus as they stood there. After a short pause, he rose from the chair, revealing his hodgepodge uniform and rank - a colonel with his name patch reading ‘D. Hawkins’. “So, you’re the boys from Prey, huh? Can’t say I’m too excited to be in charge of you, but neither of us have much choice in this arrangement.”

_Wait, ‘in charge’ of us?_ Confusion plastered Marcus’s face as Andy’s was covered with a bolt of realization. “Colonel, I was under the impression that we’d be transferring up to AFB Rowsdower after we signed the contract here and they cleared some space?” Marcus asked.

“Well, there was a change in plans that obviously didn’t get to you. My superiors have decided that any mercs, like you, that are unable to make it to Rowsdower for one reason or another are to remain at their positions and operate from there until Rowsdower can be properly expanded. When that’s gonna happen? I have no clue, so for the time being you’re under my command.” The colonel gave a small shrug. “Tough shit for both of us it seems.”

_No fucking way. This has to be some sort of joke, right? But with what Stardust said…_ Marcus’s stomach dropped to the floor. _Son-of-a-bitch, we really are stuck here._

“Well, shit… I mean, we packed enough supplies for a long-term contract, but we weren’t exactly expecting to be at an airfield like this.” Andy let out a frustrated huff of air as he rubbed his face in frustration while Marcus continued. “How’s logistics gonna be, then?”

“God awful, given that we fully lost Presida over three weeks ago and the Feds have been squeezing down on our supply trains anywhere they can. Although it’s not like we had good supply lines in the first place, it’s put a wrench in what we do have so I wouldn’t be expecting much in the way of any creature comforts for a while. Hope you can deal with that.”

“We’ve had to deal with worse, but still… Our mechanics sure as hell ain’t gonna be happy.” A singular shake of his head was all that Marcus could muster before digging deep into his lungs and continuing. “Well, Colonel, let’s get that contract looked at and signed. My men need to get settled in.”

“Then follow me.” The colonel turned and led the two towards a door and turned the knob, letting the two inside to get to business.


	6. Red Shouldered - Part 6

“You’re fuckin’ joking, right?” Garry, with the others, were all a mixture of disappointed and stunned at the news that they were, in fact, not going to be going to Rowsdower in the near future, or possibly at all.

“So, we’re just stuck here then?” Benard asked. He was sitting on top of a crate labeled ‘TP’ next to Virginia who, as always, was looking fairly disinterested in the whole ordeal.

Marcus, once more, was trying to keep things calm and was having a bit more success this time compared to the flight there. “Not ‘stuck’ here, just operating from here. No we didn’t get informed properly, but as it stands, we really do not have a choice. Just as we were told before we left Midtown, we’ll be going and doing as we’re told just like when we were working for the RFR or anyone else. We’ll just have to bear with it until things, hopefully, get better.”

Johnny then spoke up. “I hope so. That small heater we brought with us barely works for this room, let alone the building we got.”

“Bones, I’ve already gotten an earful from the crews and I’ve already asked about it to the Cascadian regulars, they said they’ll get the heat up and running by the end of the night. Again, something we’ll just have to hold tight on.”

“Sounds like a whole basket of bullshit.” Garry once more joined in. “But I guess it could always be worse. Could be like that one time in Creole where they just stuck us in a summer camp barracks after they ‘ran out of room’ in their normal ones. Those damn bugs were no joke”

“Yea, that was bad. I still remember-” Andy cut Marcus off. “Topic, Taurus, stay on topic.”

“Right. Anyways, with everything of ours loaded off of the C/T-17 and already sitting in here since we didn’t have much, save for Johnny and Michael, we’ve got nothing left but to clean this place up and catch some sleep. We’ll be having a sortie order in a couple days so I need you at the top of your game. Understood?”

Through the final rays of the evening sun poking through the blinds of the windows, all of Hawk nodded their heads and gave confirmation. “Excellent, then let’s get to work.”

Hawk spent the next 20 minutes or so getting everything ready within their new barracks with having to mostly move things around rather than unpack. Most of the things moved were old storage boxes, empty ammo crate and containers, and a disturbingly high amount of toilet paper. One small toilet paper war later and a quick cleanup later, their barracks was finally sorted and, with the help of the CIF personnel on site, fully heated and ready for occupation.

Just after the sun had dipped below the treeline that surrounded Tok, all of Hawk were fast asleep.


	7. Nested - Part 1.1

Morning finally found AF Tok after what felt like a long darkness for Marcus, although it had really been a smaller amount of sleep compared to what he normally received at AFB Midtown. By the time he fully opened his eyes, most of Hawk had already awoken and had gone about getting ready for the day ahead. Not being one to stay in bed for too long while on a contract, he quickly sat up and rubbed his face in a vain attempt to somehow wake up more than what he already had.

A familiar voice called him out on it. “Mornin’ sleepy ass, still not awake? Already got you some coffee ready.” The hand of Michael, Hawk 4, became visible as Marcus removed his hands from his face, taking the coffee that was being offered.

“Thanks, Remy.” He took a whiff of the smell which helped him achieve that higher state of alertness. “Sure as hell hope you kept this coffee on the down low like I asked Bones ‘n you to. I really don’t want to deal with the crews trying to raid our barracks over this.” The first sip, as always, was hot as hell and his half-awake brain was quickly reminded of this forgotten detail. “Agh, shit!”

A single snicker came from the pack-rat. “Jesus boss, slow down. Gonna need that tongue of yours soon if what you said yesterday was right. Another sortie already and we haven’t even been here a day yet. And hell, I’d normally be getting shit done before that.”

“Tomorrow, Remy. It’ll be tomorrow. And just… Try not to piss off the CIF boys between now and then, would you?” He blew onto the coffee to help cool it off before taking another sip. “I don’t want a repeat of our last contract, ya got it?”

“Bahh, come on, you know that shit wasn’t mine. They just did that to have an excuse to boot our asses out of Creole, what with them getting real buddy-buddy with the Feds.”

“Yea right… Even so Remy, let’s try not to give them a reason to do it then, yea?”

A small huff came from Michael. “Yea boss, got it… By the way, Rubber and Dyno said they were headed out to the mess to grab brunch, by the way. They wanted me to give you a heads up that we’ve apparently only got MREs from the Cascadians and they’re pretty dated by the way they spoke.”

“Wonderful…” He took a much larger sip either out of desperation to wake up or out of stress at the recently delivered news. “Guess there’s no way around it- we didn’t get to take any rations other than emergency packs and what you two brought, so we’re SOL on that. Fuckin’ joy…” Marcus finally rose out of bed with a frustrated look on his face and towered over the comparatively short pilot. “Thanks for gettin’ me coffee, Remy. Go ahead and get done what you need to get done for today.”

As Remy began to walk off and Marcus began to get dressed, he turned to the pack-rat and said “Hey, don’t give the crews too much shit!” only to receive an answer of “Yea, sure!” paired a snicker as the man ran off towards the hangars.

  
_ Sorry Jackson, he’s your problem now… _ Marcus felt a slight sting of pity for his crew chief.

* * *

The date that was labeled on the MRE package in the team leader's hand made him think he was crazy for a moment as he read the package year again. 424 AC.  _ Am I going crazy? _ Marcus thought. He read it again. 424 AC.  _ Nope, I am not going crazy. _ “Hey, Colonel. You see the dates on these things?”

Colonel Hawkins was sitting with other CIF officers and the like as he was eating his own meal with his comrades. “Yes Hawk 1, I have. Remember what I told you about our logistics? You have the Federation to thank for us having MREs as old as this. I’m sure they’d appreciate you filling a formal complaint should you feel so inclined.” His voice was deadpan and absolutely serious despite the smart-ass remark he just gave, all the while eating an MRE himself, more than likely one with a similar date as the package Marcus was still holding in his hand.

_ Jackass. _

Without much of a choice, the redheaded pilot took the chicken and rice MRE and found Andy and Garry, sitting down and noticing one of them eating it slowly, evidently having the same apprehension as Marcus did about them. “They taste weird at all?”

Andy, who was eating the same kind of meal that Marcus was still holding, piped up after swallowing a bite. “Not really, somehow. But just knowin’ how old they are makes it kinda hard to swallow.”

“Guess that’s good at least. What about yours, Dyno?” Marcus sat next to his wingman and began tearing open his MRE and prepping it on his tray.

“Fucking godawful.” The man took another sporkful of his own meal and continued with a familiar sarcastic tone. “Worst thing I’ve ever eaten in my life.”

“Ah, so it’s edible then?” The gesture at least got Marcus to grin a little as he prepared to dig into his now ready MRE. In taking his first bite, he found his own meal was just that.  _ Edible. Not too bad, but this is seriously missing some taste. _

There was, of course, a somewhat odd taste to it and it lingered, but that was far less important than the need he felt to fill his empty stomach. “Say, Taurus, have you heard anything about that operation tomorrow? I’ve heard some of the higher ranking Cascadians mention it in passing, but they haven’t really spoken about it much in detail.” Garry inquired.

“Other than the Colonel saying that there was one, I haven’t heard a lick about it other than the name of ‘Operation Broken Chain’. I’ve no clue at all as to  _ what _ we’re gonna be doing, but I think we’ll probably have our plates full once we get started. Hmph… Full plates…” A small smile came across Marcus’s lips at the realization of his unintentional pun. “Either way, I’m sure we’ll be ready for it when the time comes. Not like it’ll be some scramble to stop the end of the world or something.”

Garry rapidly finished off the last few bites before adding his thoughts. “Knowing our luck, that probably would be the thing to happen.” He leaned back. “Still, we’d normally at least get a hint as to what we’re doing beforehand, y’know? Something like ‘Hey, we’re gonna have you running CAP here’ or ‘Hope you’re ready for some CAS tomorrow there’ or some shit like that.”

“Can’t say that I don’t find it odd myself, but I’m sure there’s a reason or another.”  _ Of course, the Colonel probably could just not like us that much either. _ That thought had already crossed Marcus’s mind before given the man’s demeanor, but he learned a long time ago that it was best to keep those kinds of assessments to yourself.

“I guess so… Man, that MRE was good.” Garry simply patted his belly to emphasize his satisfaction with the meal. Marcus was still getting through his, but in good time regardless. He couldn’t help but think about their next sortie, now that Garry had put the worm of thought in his head.

_ I know we got comfortable with the Rzeki military back home, but this is kinda off putting. Not even a hint or anything… Maybe they’re just trying to keep the lid on it? But that name might indica- _

While he was idly eating and lost in thought, the loudspeaker crackled to life.  _ “Hawk 1, Colonel Hawkins, and AWACS Compass, please report to the briefing room. I repeat, Hawk 1, Colonel Hawkins, and AWACS Compass, report to the briefing room.” _

With a mouth full of some of the scraps bits of food, the only word that Marcus would utter was “Fuck.” Not a second later, he quickly shoveled the rest of the remaining dregs from his MRE into his mouth and got up while downing the glass of water that he hadn’t touched yet, losing breath in the process. “Shit… Okay… Rubber, Dyno, I’ll keep you posted. If it’s something big, let the crews know and get the teams together.”

Before his comrades could even reply, he began making his way to the briefing room at an urgent pace.


	8. Nested - Part 1.2

With the Colonel and the apparent AWACS Compass close behind him, Marcus held open the door to the briefing room as he was the first to reach it. He had obviously seen and spoken with the Colonel before in the mess hall, but he didn’t even know what Tok’s AWACS looked like until now.

A grumpy and exhausted looking middle-aged man with the subtle stubble of a beard coming in was the Colonel, and an already familiar face. The person behind him was unfamiliar altogether. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t get to memorize her appearance right then as the two quickly took advantage of the offer Marcus gave by holding the door, with himself quickly following.

Inside the room they were called to, two men were huddled over an older looking computer. The projector they had obviously set up for it was displaying a program boot up sequence that played on the monitor of whatever computer they were using, giving blue light to the scowled faces of the two men.

The Colonel spoke and got straight to the point. “What’s the problem, Sergeant?”

A deep breath of frustration emanated from one of the enlisted men as the program appeared to start up, but then displayed a large X with text saying something about not being able to connect to a server for license verification. “Sir, we thought we’d be able to jury-rig the software to boot without having to connect to the server, but it just keeps reverting back to trying to connect to them anyways. So now we can’t get the damned thing to run because it’ll just fail to connect thanks to the fuckin’ Solana Comms Array…”

The woman who entered the room behind the Colonel spoke up with a noticeable Magadanian accent. “I told you that trying to do this would be a fool’s errand, Sergeant Matthews. We should have just simply asked the mercenaries to allow us to use their software instead of trying to subvert our own.” She began to make her way towards the computer.

“With all due respect Captain, we shouldn’t have to rely on mercs so much! If we do, we-” Marcus made his presence known at that point with a simple “ _ Ahem _ ” and a smile, quickly stopping the Sergeant before he embarrassed himself.  _ That’s right, asshole. I’m right here. _

It quickly became fairly evident that he obviously wasn’t the one that called for Hawk by his train of thought. This was shown further by the immediate look he gave towards his comrade who was sitting next to him, the other man shrinking from the gaze a little in his chair.

Once more, the Colonel spoke as he moved past the projected error on the whiteboard, the displayed image residing on his body for a moment. “Sergeant, just tell me if you can get it working or not.”

“Colonel, as much as I want to say that I can, I don’t think it’s possible now.” Sergeant Matthews’s head drooped in defeat behind the monitor. It was then that the woman moved the Sergeant and his cohort out of the way to try for herself. She did end up going a different route through what Marcus gathered was a dropdown menu to start up the program, but to no avail as she got the exact same error and couldn’t continue further. Out of frustration, she tried a couple more times but got the same results.

Then, the woman quickly took a couple of steps back and got out of the way of the men she had pushed aside. With a bit of that frustration remaining under her breath, she cursed in her native tongue and stood next to the closest wall before addressing the Colonel with her distinct accent. “No way around the programming, sir. TacScape’s not going to boot up without connecting to the MacAllan servers.” The Sergeant tried one more time to get the software to work before failing and slamming his fist on the desk in frustration.

“Son-of-a-bitch… We needed that ready for when CIF-47 gets here tomorrow.” The Colonel just resorted to standing there while rubbing his temple in an obvious display of frustration. It was only then that the Sergeant’s friend spoke up with some timidness in his voice, asking “If I may, Colonel?”

“Go ahead, Corporal.”

“I think we ought to request to use Prey’s software if they have it, like Captain Zhukov suggested before… I’ve tried my best and, even with her help, I don’t think we can get it running  _ at all _ , let alone before tomorrow.”

It was then, at that singular moment, that everyone turned to look at Marcus for a response. This very much caught him off guard and reminded him of a few unpleasant memories from school, causing him to instinctively stall on his response which in turn made his face feel like it went red, a bit like his hair, before he gathered himself. “I uh, I think that’d be just fine. Our maintenance normally keeps a laptop or computer with us in-case we ever need it… It’s a copy of CENE, so I can have some of our crew help you set it up and use it.”

Captain Zhukov spoke up after. “I think that should work just fine, should Colonel Hawkins approve.”

“Quite frankly, I don’t give a damn at this point nor do we have much of a choice otherwise. Hawk 1, go ahead and get ahold of that software… Oh, and any help in getting it set up would be greatly appreciated.” Without saying another word, the Colonel turned on his heels and left the room with the four others remaining.

Marcus took breath to speak, but the two men at the computer had already gone back to attempting to get around the DRM after pausing the frame being displayed by the projector. Captain Zhukov had walked over to him without his noticing while he watched the techies. “Hawk 1, I’ll be your attached AWACS from now on. Fight by the book and we won’t have any problems, да?”

Marcus instinctively jumped a little, then simply nodded in response. “Yea, understood. It’s Taurus, by the way. Probably easier to call me that instead, Compass.” He awkwardly held out his hand in greeting.

“You’ll have to earn that, Hawk 1.” She coldly ignored his gesture and walked past him and out the door just like the Colonel had.


	9. Nested - Part 1.3

In a vaguely similar fashion from a couple days ago, a flurry of tan flight suits made their way through a hallway while passing a swarm of standard military personnel. This time, instead of getting a new contract, they were headed for a briefing and the personnel around them were either headed to that briefing as well or scrambling to get the numerous aircraft ready that were about to be deployed for the coming sortie. The group then practically burst through the door and into the room that Marcus had just been inside the day prior.

_A lot more unfamiliar faces here,_ he thought.

Marcus’s gaze crossed the room after they entered. He began registering the amount of green flight suits before him and it fully clicked that the other group already sitting and ready was CIF-47 ‘Aurora’, having found out about their name during the summoning call over the announcement system. What was more was that they were pretty much all staring at him and his team as they sat, some with curiosity and others, disgust and suspicion. In total, there were the full eight members of Hawk present and sixteen of the members of Aurora.

There was a feeling of daggers being shot at him as he sat down at a small desk with the rest of his comrades and picked up the paper pad and pencil that was sitting there. Over the next few minutes, a flurry of small conversations had sparked up between the members of the respective teams before Colonel Hawkins, AWACS Compass, and the other two men from the day before entered the room and everyone fell silent. It was almost like Marcus was back in the early days of his career, if only for a little bit

Compass took her spot standing next to the whiteboard and the Colonel took a corner of the room, as the meeker of the two men left took to the computer, and the Sergeant remained. He waited for a moment as the briefing software was booted up and the file loaded for the day’s sortie. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Operation Broken Chain. I’m sure you’ve already heard rumors about an operation thanks to loose lips, but at least we were able to hold the lid pretty well until now.”

Behind him, the familiar dark, orange glow of CENE lit up the now darkened room as the Cascadian soldier at the desk began bringing up the map and initial briefing details before zooming in to the general area of the northern half of Cascadia. “As some of you know, the Federation has had effectively total control over the logistics in Cascadia over the past month. They’ve been interdicting a large amount of our efforts to run supplies between bases and civilian settlements. However, thanks to recent successes at sea with our navy managing to sever multiple supply lines, the Feds have been forced to adopt an airtrain system for running their supplies.”

The map zoomed in a little more on the southern front lines on the Cascadian western territory, highlighting a few spots with lines connecting to AF Tok, AFB Rowsdower, and a handful of others. The highlighted areas being along what were civilian air corridors. “So, we’re taking advantage to make a strike against their logistics to help level the playing field. It’s necessary that we use multiple units for this strike to make sure that the nail is driven into the coffin logistically for the Feds, hence Aurora’s attendance here at Tok.”

“However, we’ve got a rather significant obstacle in these operations.” The Sergeant went silent for a moment as Compass picked up, her distinct accent unmistakeable. “The Federation has managed to keep a tight lid of their own on the war so far thanks to Solana, so civilian air traffic is still flowing unabated within Federation held areas, meaning that they’re also using the same air corridors that the Federation airtrain is using. Thus, there will be a civilian presence in your area of operations and you **_must_ ** exercise caution while engaging Federation units.” There was particular emphasis on the last part as she looked over Hawk, and then over the rear parts of CIF-47.

The Sergeant picked up where Compass left off this time, just as she had. “So, the two primary objectives are to cut Federation supply lines and to demonstrate that the Federation is not invincible. By doing this, we kill two birds with one stone. Unfortunately, we’ll be having to split our forces thanks to one of the corridors splitting in two. So Hawk, your area of operations will be over the Grimwood Forests with AWACS Compass. Aurora, your area will be further south along the Grimwood Coast proper with AWACS Orchard. Any questions?”

Multiple people raised their hands including Marucs and a couple of his teammates, but they were promptly ignored as someone from Aurora was selected. “What’s the makeup of the Feddies?”

As the details were given out, Marcus began writing them down as he realized he was unlikely to either be called on or even really need to. Andy spoke in a hushed tone to him. “They really don’t fuckin’ like us, do they?”

“No, no they do not.” He continued jotting down likely enemy aircraft types: Sk.27s, F/C-15s, F/C-16s, and F/D-14s. The next question involved what kinds of transports that the Federation could be using. “We’ll just have to demonstrate that we’re not just here to kill anything that flies or rides for money.”

Another person in Hawk raised their hand and, surprisingly, was called on. Dyno asked “Should we expect any airships present in either AO?”

“At this point, we can’t guarantee that they won’t be in the area given the proximity to both Presidia and Prospero, so keep an ear open for updates that come down the wire.” Marcus paused for a moment before continuing to scribble the answer, then underlining it.  
  


* * *

Cold air occupied the now open hangars of Prey’s detachment as the pilots gathered with their full sets of gear behind their aircraft. “Alright, listen up!” Marcus started. “I want to make something absolutely clear! I want PID on _all_ of the targets you shoot at, even if that means visually checking them should all-else fail. I do **_not_ ** want any civilian casualties at all during this- if even one civilian aircraft is damaged by our hands, we are done here. Hell, if you get into a dogfight near a civie flight, drag them back first. We are professionals, not a bunch of blood thirsty dogs, so do not risk an accidental shootdown, understood?”

A varying amount of confirmations and nods came from his team that were just before them. “Good. Oh, and play nice with the CIF boys, even if they don’t play nice with us. We may be mercs, but I at least like to think we’re good play-mates, so let’s act that way, yea?”

Remy piped up. “Whatever ya say, boss!” The rest of Hawk laughed a little, Marcus cracking a smile through his serious veneer.

_Fuck’s sake._

With a shake of his head and that little grin, he began moving for his F/S-15. “Mount up!”

Every member of Hawk quickly seated themselves in their Eagles, going through the startup procedure, and then watched as the F/C-15s and Sk.27s of Aurora took off as they taxied. Once cleared with AF Tok’s ATC, they themselves taxied and took off in pairs. Taurus and Rubber, Dyno and Remy, Bones and Fish, and Catnip and Plank with AWACS Compass behind them.

Together, they formed up and headed south for the long flight ahead.


	10. Sharp Shinned - Part 1

The formation of mercenaries and the CIF AWACS had been flying for a couple of hours, having initially trailed over the west coast before turning inland towards the Salvemini Vineyards. Once they passed over the once renowned, now war-torn grapevines of Cascadia, they turned straight southwards for Grimwood Forrest with barely a sight of the Pacific Ocean over the horizon. By the time they were starting to approach their designated area, it was already 0940.

“Hey Bones, did I ever tell you about the time that we-”

“Hawk 3, AWACS Compass, cut the chatter.” The unmistakable Magadanian accent from Hawk’s attached AWACS once more shut down any small talk between the pilots as the mind-numbingly silent flight to their AO drew to a close. Although it was admittedly a pleasure to listen to, getting constantly told to basically shut the fuck up by a voice like Zhukov’s kinda put that endearance aside.  _ She really did earn that callsign… _

Perhaps it was for the better, but everyone else was irritated, indicated by how many hand signals Marcus had witnessed getting displayed by his fellow mercenaries. Their backup channels had obviously seen use on the way there, but it didn’t take too long for Compass to figure out what they were up to and, needless to say, she wasn’t pleased about it. Thus, the long flight was almost completely quiet, save for the occasional pipe up from Garry or Michael and the distance checks from Marcus. “Compass, Hawk 1, distance to AO?”

“ETA is 10 minutes. Aurora has just engaged their first targets.” Compass was clear with her speech.

“Roger, thanks.” Marcus caught himself sighing over the radio after his own transmission. He held his breath by reflex as he waited for a response, but ended up getting none much to his surprise. There was another slow passage of a minute before Marcus spoke up again on the radio. “Compass, Hawk 1, I’ve got an interrogative.”

“Roger Hawk 1, send it.” she replied.

“What’s up with the tight comms? You may be military, but you run the tightest ship I think I’ve ever seen when it comes to killing off small talk.”

“Because ‘small talk’ is unnecessary on sorties, you can talk on your own time on the ground, Hawk 1. Besides, judging by Hawk 3’s knack for it, I imagine he has plenty of stories to regale us with… Hmm, we’re getting contact…” Compass trailed off for a few seconds before coming back with her accented voice in force.

“Hawk team, it appears we’ve got early contact. Federation IFFs at long range on the nose are identified as four C/T-17s and four Sk.27s with another group of four C/T-17s and four F/D-14s further off to bearing 225.” With a short pause, she somehow put on a more serious tone to her voice and announced “Operation Broken Chain is a go. Hawk team, engage at will.”

_ About. Fucking. Time. _ The relief washed over Marcus, if only because they could do their job.

With a long pull of breath and the boredom of the flight now behind him, he keyed his microphone with a bit of a smile. “Alright, four ship formations- Hawk 1 through 4 and Hawk 5 through 8. We’ll engage the first contacts off of our nose, Bones you take the group at 225.” With that smile remaining under his oxygen mask, he speaks one last time before breaking. “Hawk, let’s earn that paycheck. Engage!”

Marcus slammed his throttle into ‘AFTERBURNER’ once more and led the charge, four F/S-15s blasting forwards with the four F/C-15s breaking right with their own afterburners rumbling.

* * *

The ever familiar piercing sound of a radar lock played through Marcus’s ears as he fired two MLAAs at the formation of Sk.27s who had yet to notice they were even being targeted. His cry of “Fox 3, Fox 3” giving way to the sounds of his wingman’s voice calling the same code as another pair zoomed past and towards the other two Sk.27s of the formation. Both sets of missiles drew white trails across the somewhat cloudy sky, like chalk across a beautiful mural on a city-building’s wall.

Two explosions gave way to fireballs that began to immediately plummet towards the heavily forested ground below, two more explosions going off in the distance and just as quickly began following the same path. “Scratch two each for Rubber and Taurus. Let’s hurry up and hit those transports.” The four F/S-15s zoomed past the falling airframes and began to bear down on the four C/T-17s that were still cruising along their flight paths.  _ Another two, _ Marcus thought.  _ Gonna have to switch to tallies after thi- _

“Hawk 1, watch yourselves! You’ve got a civilian flight about to cross your path!” Compass was uncharacteristically yelling her warning as it caused a small panic.

“Shit, break low!” The fighter jets scattered as they dove for the deck through the clouds. Marcus nearly broke his neck trying to keep an eye out for a HUD indicator for the civilian aircraft, only to be disappointed when he realized that it was there all along and that the sun beaming onto the cloud had made it nearly impossible to see thanks to the glare on his visor.  _ We’re gonna have to change that when we get back. _

“Everyone green?” Marcus asked.

“Green.” “Dyno, green.” “Remy, fuckin’ green!” Andy, Garry, and Michael all responded.

“Fuck me… Okay, let’s swing around and take out those transports.” Despite being spread out from each other, the four Agile Eagles slowly pulled around, reformed, and lined up their noses on the now dispersed Federation transports.

“Taurus, trailing the furthest.” Marcus chimed. “Call your targets.”

Andy called “Second on the left.” with Garry calling “Hard left!” and Remy declaring “Guess I’ll go right.”

And so, it happened. Marcus had switched to his heatseekers and they began growling that hellish gnarl just as they always did when they saw prey, but he promptly ignored their bellowing. He just cruised towards the cargo aircraft like he was casually walking up to someone and was about to surprise them. Then, the gun reticle popped up and he let loose upon the sitting duck.

A long, half-second burst let loose a lengthy string of 20mm rounds with their tracers burning in shining defiance of the sun’s own light, meeting the right wing and the engines that were attached to the C/T-17. A frantic movement, which was likely the result of reflex on account of the pilots, from the large aircraft caused it to try to roll left, but this only resulted in the right wing of the cargo jet getting torn from the vain attempt to dodge any other fire. He had pulled off from the Federation aircraft before it had gained momentum for it’s descent into the trees below, but he knew exactly what would happen without a wing.

_ This is like shooting fish in a barrel. It’s almost too easy… There should be more groups out here, _ he thought. He continued to fly on for a moment while looking at his radar and mulling over the stunning lack of more formations on his radar. While doing so, he noted that Bones and his formation were still tangled up in their fight but had taken down three out of the four transports and were making short work of their escorts in what appeared to be dogfights.

“Taurus, think we should help out Bones and the rest?” Andy asked while pulling up his fighter next Marcus’s.

“No, they’ll be fine. Taking a bit longer, but I don’t think we really need to worry about them. The kid needs to learn to lead and action is a good teacher.” A small smile appeared on his face beneath the mask of his helmet that was drenched in the red light of his cockpit’s numerous buttons and switches as he thought of his own trials. He keyed his radio again. “Compass, we’ve gotten our first group out here. Can we get a SITREP on Aurora?”

“Roger, Hawk 1. Aurora’s currently in heavy engagement. They’ve run into a large amount of transports and their respective escorts, but they’re managing so far. Hawk 5 and their flight  _ appear _ to be handling their group so far. I don’t… Ебена мать… Hawk 1, you’ve got a significant enemy formation, 30 miles at bearing 180, angels 14. There’s eight transports, eight F/C-15s, and four Sk.27s along with a large civilian element 10 miles behind them.”  _ Yep, there’s the rest of them. _

Captain Zhukov paused for a moment before speaking a blatant warning. “Hawk 1, I  _ strongly advise _ that you do not engage that formation until Hawk 5 and their element finish off their group.” Marcus looked at his radar and watched the formation of 20 aircraft pop onto his display, a giant blob of green arrows moving eastwards into the sun. A sinking feeling hit him, sat in his stomach, and then disappeared as he considered their options.  _ 20 targets, huh? Gonna have to play this like the second conflict with the UAS… _

“Compass, we’re gonna engage them. Let us know if another group comes into the AO and tell Hawk 5 to engage with us once they’re done.” Marcus spoke clearly and began climbing in altitude. “Rubber, on me. Dyno, Remy, we’re gonna pair off and pull them from their transports to cut them down a piece at a time. Let’s go!”

The formation of Agile Eagles pierced the clouds and soared above them into the sunlight to meet the airtrain.


	11. Sharp Shinned - Part 2

The two sets of wingmen split to try and bait away the enemies that were guarding their true prey, making for what had to be an interesting view from the ground- two smaller sets of contrails splitting from each other as they drew closer to what one could aptly describe as a horde. Yet they kept going. Marcus monitored the radio as they moved to engage the herde of jets before them, but Johnny ‘Bones’ and his flight had just finished off their own engagement and were on the way to assist. There wasn’t enough time to think anymore on it as the first of the Federation fighters began moving to intercept Hawk’s top four.

Just like Marcus wanted, four F/C-15s broke for him and Andy along with the other four breaking for Garry and Michael. Once again, much like when Hawk first entered the borders of Cascadia, a dance of two on four presented itself. But Hawk would not be the first to fire this time. Preempted by a short radar lock warning, small orange lights and white trails appeared under the Federation fighters, making the RWR in his F/S-15’s cockpit begin blaring and his HUD to start flashing red, reading ‘MISSILE WARNING’.

_ Oh shit. _

“Taurus, dumping chaff and evading!” He quickly yelled into his helmet, pulling left and down into the clouds to notch the missiles, his wingman splitting and going right. The sudden seclusion of the clouds gave him a vain spark of relief and he knew it, making him pull hard and push the nose of his fighter back towards the formation of the enemy fighters on his radar with the missiles streaking past behind him. He snapped his neck to his right to see his wingman doing the exact same thing he was as they began their climb up again.

Putting his head forward once more, he changed his selected weapon to the MLAAs and gave a snapshot with two missiles as they quickly obtained a lock. The unmistakable sound of missile release and ignition came from below him as the two identical munitions soared past him and collided with only one of the targets. Zooming past the formation, he craned his neck up and around to the one that had survived.

_ Where do you think you’re going? _

His world blurred as his vision narrowed, the nose of his aircraft first pointing at the bright blue sky, then the infinite horizon, and then towards the nearly stark white cloud above the pine covered ground. But Marcus wasn’t looking to remember the scene as he tracked the black dot of the surviving F/C-15 as it broke to his inverted left, rolling his airframe to start properly tracking his target. His concentration was broken for a moment as a clear warning came from Compass.

“Hawk 1, the escorting Sk.27s are vectoring onto you and Hawk 1! I recommend you disengage and bait them to Hawk 5’s flight!”

His left hand pushed the throttle to its maximum threshold and ignited his afterburners once again as he dived for his target. “Hk… Roger, Compass…” being all that Marcus could muster in response as he resisted intense G-forces. The distance indicator dropped like a stone as the F/C-15 attempted to try to dodge out of the way, but it was far too late. At 4,000 feet from his target, Marcus’s finger pulled back on the trigger of his flight stick and spat hellfire with the gunpod. The cannon rounds didn’t have much time to fly thanks to additional speed from Marcus’s dive, making short work of the F/C-15’s airframe as they ripped through the center of the fighter, tearing its engines apart and forcing the pilot to bail.

“Holy shit… Rubber, what’s your status?” Marcus caught his breath as he spoke.

“Coming up right behind you, Taurus. We need to hurry up and vector onto those Sk.s, they’re almost in range.” A short pause came over the radio as Marcus and his wingman adjusted their bearing. “Hey Bones, what’s your status?”

The familiar voice of the lanky pilot came clear as Andy pulled up to Marcus’s left wing. “We’re almost to you, Rubber.”

Marcus spoke before Andy could. “Go help Dyno and Remy with the rest of the F/C-15s and hit the transports after, we’ve got the 27s.”

“Roger that, Taurus.” Hawk’s leader checked his radar display once more. The four blue arrows of Hawk 5 through 8 all turned off from behind and went westward while the formation of green arrows kept going right for them and civilian markers scrambling southwards.  _ I don’t want a repeat of the second merge _ Marucs thought. _ Let’s try that split again. _

“Rubber, once we get close, let’s split and start weaving. We’ll be able to clear each other’s tails and wrap this shit up.” He steeled himself and spoke again as the Sk.27s began to reach MLAA range. “Ready?”

“If you’re sure about it… Yea.” Andy replied. The Sk.27s had passed the MLAA threshold, but seemed determined to get a dance out of the two mercenaries.

“Okay, on my mark…” The two fighters maintained a tight formation as the Federation fighters kept closing. At 10,000 feet, Marcus screamed over the radio- “Now!”

The two desert splinter F/S-15s rolled and separated in a heartbeat as the Sk.27s got within range and fired a pair of heatseekers at them, the Feds themselves splitting into twos to give chase. It was then as the RWR system on Marcus’s fighter was going off again that he and his wingman rolled and began heading back for each other. The distance quickly disappeared as the merge between the two wingmen occurred, both firing a heatseeker and a burst from their gun pods at the chasing fighters on each other’s tails. Four, rapid and violent explosions signaled the end of the bandits on their tails.

A huge wave of relief hit Marcus as he leveled out. He took a moment to keep flying in a straight line in the general direction of the rest of the members of his team before finally keying the radio when his wingman pulled up next to him. “Dyno, you and everyone else good over there?”

“Affirm Taurus, just splashed the last transport. You sound like you’ve had a rough fight over there, you alright?” Dyno sounded like normal, but had gotten to that point in a fight where he wasn’t yelling.

“Yea, didn’t expect it to get this populated out here, at least for one group. Dance partners piled up pretty fuckin’ quick, but on the brightside, it’s a lot more marks to make and a lot more money made.” He tried hiding the shaking in his voice as best as he could. “Let’s go ahead and form up with Compass, I’m sure-”

The unmistakable voice of AWACS Compass cracked to life over the radio. “Unfortunately Hawk 1, that’s going to have to wait. Incoming from AWACS Orchard says Aurora’s been driven off by a Federation QRF consisting of three airships and their escorts alongside a small Federation air unit. They’ve managed to get away from the airships and the escort fighters after sustaining only a couple of losses, but the Federation unit is still plaguing them. We need to head south and assist their escape, Hawk 1. You read all that?”

_ That doesn’t sound good. _

“Roger Compass, we copy. Do we know who that Fed unit is?” Marcus asked.

“Negative. They haven’t sent back any clue as to who it could be since AWACS Orchard is in a fit, but the last time Peacekeepers were spotted was over Yellowstone. It could be them, but it’s unlikely.”

“I don’t like the sound of that, but we really don’t have much of a choice. Come on boys, let’s go bail out the regs.” Marcus gave a formation call and turned his fighter for the distant coastline with the rest of Hawk following him, quickly leaving the vast pines behind.


	12. Sharp Shinned - Part 3

It was around 10:10 when Hawk and AWACS Compass got into radio range with AWACS Orchard and the situation was not good. “Fucking hell, Compass! What’s your ETA, Aurora’s down to nine fighters!” A panic was all that came over the radio from Aurora’s AWACS.

“We’re 25 miles out from your position, Orchard. Hang in there!” AWACS Compass replied.

“We don’t have much to hang ont-” static cut off the AWACS’s next transmission and the radio fell silent. A small hustle in Compass’s aircraft was heard before she spoke again, still holding down the button to transmit. “Hawk, I’ll try to patch through Aurora, but it’ll take some time. Push ahead and try to cover them as best as you can.”

_ I really don’t like the sound of this one fuckin’ bit. _ Marcus’s concern was hidden from everyone else, but his face under the flight helmet he wore was one of sincere worry as they flew. “Roger Compass, we’re pushing. Hawk, let’s see what these Feds are fighting like.”

* * *

The scene in front of Hawk’s formation was absolute and utter carnage. A mixture of F/C-16s and F/C-15s were in a furball with what the HUD identified as Sk.37s, making a mess of the skies around them. Marcus keyed his mic to Aurora. “Major, get your fuckin’ aircraft outta here! We’ll cover you!”

“About fucking time you mercs showed up! We’re disengaging! Watch out for these guys, they  **_are not_ ** fucking around!” The presumed leader’s F/C-16 banked off from trying to follow one of the Sk.37s into a turn and was followed by another Cascadaian fighter. Then another, and then the rest as they bailed from their respective dogfights and started a run for home. A couple were shot down leaving seven fighters of CIF-47 ‘Aurora’ left. The Sk.37s, oddly enough, disengaged from the fighting to realign and reform into a four-finger formation.

“Hawk, let’s switch to our secondary freqs. We’re gonna need clear comms for this.” A flurry of affirmatives and a pissed off transmission from Compass preceded a confusing event as what was an unmistakable Cascadian accent cracked to life over Marcus’s radio. “It’s an eight craft formation, evenly split between F/C-15s and F/S-15s. We should take the F/C-15s-”

_ What the fuck? _ As the man on the radio continued, every other person in Hawk looked towards Marcus as he panicked. For a couple seconds, they kept listening before he signaled for everyone to switch back.

“Boss, what the fuck the was that?” Dyno had just as much confusion in his voice as Marcus had in his head.

“No clue, stay on the CIF freq, I’ll dip my radio into theirs.” He flipped his radio channel back to their now not-so-private frequency to listen in. This time, a Magadanian voice came over the radio.

“It doesn’t matter if we’ve got the experience or not, odds like this means we’re going to get killed. We’ve only done so well against the regulars because they were already engaged with the airships- and we don’t know how good these mercenaries are! You remember what we read in Lt Col. Privalov’s manual during training-”

The Cascaidan sounding voice returned over the radio. “Even so, this isn’t the Crown that Crimson 1 was talking about. We ought to be-”

With authority, an almost posh-like voice cleared the channel. “Enough. They’re closing in and we likely do not have the ammo for them; the odds do not lie with us. Gyr, we’re RTB.” With nearly perfect synchronization the rest of the Federation unit returned with a “Yes, sir” with all four Sk.37s turning to their left towards the sea and continued on to turn, headed south. With that, Marcus flipped back to the CIF frequency and came back to silence.

_ What the fuck was that? _

He broke that silence with an awkward strain in his voice. “They’re uhh, they’re runnin’ off. Compass, Hawk, do we have any more hostiles in the AO?”

Another round of silence hung in the air before she responded. “Negative, Taurus. Those were the last of them… The AO is clear and all objectives appear to have been fulfilled. Aurora, Hawk, let’s RTB.”

Garry spoke up. “Taurus, what the fuck was that? We had them on our rad-”

“Drop it, Dyno. We’ll discuss it back at base. There is no way that could have happened unless it was sheer luck.” The eight aircraft of Hawk made their own turn away from the AO as directed and began to head north back home to AF Tok. Silence took hold over the comms, not because of AWACS Compass shutting them down from talking, but from the silence that naturally occurred on the way back. Either out of exhaustion or surprise.

_ No fucking way that could of happened. Wisp had used that frequency back in Oceania, so why the hell do the Feds have a hold of it? _


	13. Nested - Part 2.1-1

“Excellent performance, Taurus.” The blonde Magadanian AWACS had met Marcus after the debrief as the rest of the CIF personnel and Hawk had filed out of the room. There was a kerfuffle between him and CIF-47’s leader over their response time, but it was ended quickly by the Colonel who, remarkably, weighed in on the side of the mercs. That was quickly behind him now as the strict and uptight Captain Zhukov was in front of him.

There was a lot on his mind, but this topic wasn’t one of them. “Thank’s, Captain. My apologies for ignoring your recommendation and my pilots… subverting your radio protocol, but I felt confident enough in our ability to overcome odds like that and- well, they’re mercs.”

She nodded, then spoke. “Apology accepted. I do hope that you forgive me for my, uh, as the enlisted say, ‘stick up my ass’. I should have realized that it might have been better to let you talk as you normally would, but what’s done is done.” She stopped for a moment, thinking. “What exactly did you do to get those enemy fighters to run off? They were headed straight for you and then they just… turned around, running off like a scared pack of wild dogs.”

_Why did they just all of a sudden turn around? Some of the guys around here mentioned that Fed units would sometimes just charge in or even sustain losses before leaving, but that? While they had torn into Aurora so easily?_ Marcus’s mind raced for a few beats before he realized that he was still in a conversation.

“To uh, to tell you the truth, I think that they might not have liked their odds after they tussled with Aurora like they did. They had to have been low on ammo or something like that and were just making a heat-of-the-moment decision…” He scratched the back of his head, trying not act suspiciously given he was holding back what he knew.

“Hmm, whatever the reason, we have you to thank at least. I promise not to run too ‘tight of a ship’ in the future, Taurus. See you later, mercenary.” With a small, so far uncharacteristic chuckle, the AWACS turned around and left Marcus standing in the early evening-drenched hallway. Concerned, slightly confused, and in the need to get to the hangar.

* * *

32 kills. That was his new career victory total and, as far as he knew, had been the highest in Prey since Wisp had left. _Wisp… That radio frequency is what he had used back in Oceania. He said that it’d save us one day but this had to have been luck…_ he recalled. _Was it, though?_ He painted the last tally mark on his aircraft after having to replace the standard silhouettes. Turns out performing too well has some consequences.

As soon as the last marking on his fighter was done, he stepped back and put the stencil and the airbrush on the metal table beside him, looking it over with his mind still racing about the sortie that day. For better or for worse, his mind wasn’t the only one. “Taurus, we need to talk.”

Andy was standing behind him, but Marcus didn’t hear him approach. “About what, Rubber?” he asked.

“You know full well about what, man. I talked with one of the CIF intelligence guys and they said that our freq is off of the Fed’s usual band- and our private frequency was one that Wisp instructed us to use specifically! No one has ever just gotten that lucky and stumbled upon it before _at all_.” Andy raised his voice, but only because the packed hangar was empty of others, only the desert camouflaged Eagles and innumerable tools strewn about were present as their audience.

Begrudgingly, Marcus turned around to face his wingman with a lower volume coming from this throat. “I know. But that’s all that it had to have been. Luck. There is nothing else about it. You know what the odds of them figuring it out is- hell, who’s to say that they’ve had to change them because of those said intel boys.”

“But it still doesn’t sit right with me, Marc. I know that it’s probably just luck, but Wisp never told us much about his time in Oceania- except for some of what he told you.” There was a wound evident in his tone.

“I- _sigh_ … Look, he barely told me anything more than what he told you.” Marcus struggled to reply without stepping on his wingman’s toes. “The most that he ever told me was how he and his wingman went down, some of what he did before he joined Prey, and everything else after that is what everyone else knows.”

“He didn’t tell you anything else about Oceania?” Andy asked.

“Not a damned lick more, I swear. Otherwise, I’d have told you a long time ago Andy.” He paused for a heartbeat before speaking again. “The next chance I get, I’ll try to see if I can get someone to get a hold of Wisp, but god knows when we’ll be able to with Solana keeping us cut off.”

Andy’s face showed dissatisfaction, but he appeared to accept it as the best answer he’d get- he wasn’t wrong. “Then let me know when you do, man. You aren’t the only one who’s missed the old bastard.”

“I know, but he’s retired and didn’t tell anyone hardly squat other than ‘Good luck.’” Marcus shook his head and began cleaning up his mess, putting the airbrush up in the small, mobile cabinet first.

Andy began making his way for the doors of the barely heated hangar before turning back around. “Oh, by the way, the rest of the team’s drinking to the mission’s success and Garry and Johnny making ace; you gonna be there?”

“Yea, let me clean up the rest of the way and I’ll be over there later.” Marcus found himself letting out a long sigh, starting to remember something. “Got a couple more things I need to do.”

“Right. Don’t take too much longer, Marc.” The thuds of Andy’s boots quickly resumed their path to the door before disappearing shortly after.

  
_Can’t promise that, buddy._

* * *

**426 AC**

A freshly transferred pilot adorned in a tan flight suit made his way down the hall of one of the buildings at AFB Midtown and towards the door. As he reached the exit and stepped outside, he was met with a warm display from the sun and an equally warm wind blowing directly into his face, though he quickly pushed through it to the hangars where the Prey Security Company’s aircraft are stored. Keeping his head up and walking at a brisk pace, he finally reaches the second to last set of hangars with the emblem of a hawk adorned above the door- itself having the simple inscription of ‘HAWK’ written on it.

_Yea, real subtle…_ he thought.

With an exasperated sigh, he twists the handle on the door and is immediately met with a deep voice from a rather tall, pale man standing in front of a small semicircle of chairs. “Ah, Mr. Abrams I presume?”

“Yes, sir. I was told this is where Hawk Team was meeting?”

“Well, Hawk is what’s written on the door, so I would say so. You’re the first of the new recruits to make it here and in a fairly early manner as well, so enjoy that distinction however you see fit. In the meantime, go ahead and take a seat, the others should be getting here soon enough. And you don’t need to call me sir.” His voice was distinct and the posture that he used was not what he had expected at all from a merc - it almost seemed posh to a degree.

“Yes, si- erm, alright… Is there any way I should address you?”

“My name would be just fine. I am Joseph Iling, Mr. Abrams. Although something tells me you’ll be calling me by my callsign soon enough.”

“And what’s that?”

“Oh, I think you’ll learn in due time. Until then, I’d recommend taking a seat and looking over the manual that resides in whichever one you pick.”

“Right…” _Another weirdo, huh?…_ With an awkward series of motions, Marcus did as was suggested and took a seat in front of Iling while starting to read what was placed in the metal folding chair: a flight manual on the MG-29. Putting his leg on the opposite knee, he soon was engrossed for what felt like an hour, simply reading and getting lost while forgetting that the man still patiently standing still remained.

At some point, the man moved away from the chairs and leaned up against one of the supports of the hangars near the wall, watching the door intently still; Marcus didn’t notice, though.

But eventually, there was another pilot who entered with only 15 minutes or so having passed since Marcus’s arrival. A very similar conversation played out. “Ah, Mr. Derrick I presume?”

“Yes, sir. Is this where Hawk team’s supposed to meet?”

“Indeed it is. Unfortunately, you’re not the first to arrive, but you are amongst the first. I imagine the rest of the new arrivals should be arriving soon after you, so go ahead and take a seat and read the manual that’s present in the one you pick. And don’t call me sir.”

“Yes- _shit_ , understood. Erm, Joseph Iling, right?”

A single nod was given by the flight leader with a nearly completely straight face that held the subtle hint of a grin, continuing to look through the recently arrived pilot for the last two additions. And again, an awkward set of movements were displayed as the new arrival sat down next to Marcus, picking up an identical manual, the pilots giving each other a nod.

Marcus was the first to speak. “Howdy, nice to meet ya, Derrick.”

“Nice to meet you as well, uhh?”

“Oh, Abrams. Marcus Abrams.” His right hand extended to meet the stranger’s.

“Interesting read?”

“Yea, I’ve only flown crop dusters and cargo aircraft before qualifying for this. Old airframe type apparently, but it’s reliable from what I’ve read outside of this. Magadan units used it for a long time before retiring a lot of them… These are in our language though, so we’ll be fine.”

“Huh… Well, could you catch me up? Don’t think I’ll be able to catch up if you’re already that far in.” Andy gestured to the place that Marcus was holding in his own reading material, not realizing that he was already through a sizable amount of it.

“Yea, sure. So, the first thing to note is…”


	14. Nested - Part 2.1-2

The Dustlands, unforgiving and vast, was the stage for numerous battles and raids- nearly constant in occurrence ever since the Calamity. Oftentimes these days, they were much more mute as simple border skirmishes from land pirates, smugglers, and small rouge mercenary groups. Over the past two months or so, however, it was the backdrop for nearly constant dancing in the air with Prey Security training new pilots for their combat elements. Specifically, for the training of the new ‘hatchlings’ for Hawk Team.

“Hawk 5 and 6, checking in.”

“Hawk 7 and 8, checking in.”

“Hawk 1, reading all. You’ve done well to get used to your aircraft quickly over the past few weeks, so I think it’s appropriate for you to be put to the test. The test in question will be a classic two on two dogfight. Given our environment, I’d say you have enough of a playground to duke it out over.” A brief pause followed. “You begin in 2 minutes, get to your starting positions. Wisp out.”

The four MG-29s, adorned in flat-tan paint jobs, slowly floated to their designated spots in the sky as the desert splinter-camo F/C-15 of their team leader fell back to a place out of the way of both sets of two. It didn’t take too long before Andy and Marcus got to their designated waypoint at nearly the same time that the opposite pair of pilots had. Only the hum of the two jet engines resonated through Marcus’s cockpit as he took in the vast sands of the land between his home and the other periphery nations to the west and eventually, Federation Cascadia and their vast coast.

But the farmboy’s imagination could only carry him so far for something he had yet to see, thinking it better to focus instead on the looming mock-battle ahead. “Well Andy, you got any ideas?” He asked.

“The standard. Open up with MLAAs once we get into range and then close to knife fighting distance if they miss,” Andy replied.

_ Simple, probably not very easy, and certainly predictable, _ Marcus thought, not too convinced. “You sure you don’t want to change it up? Could do something a bit more fancy and practical than that.”

“Ehh, the last fight we got in with these two, they didn’t do so well, so I’ll take my chances.” His wingman was confident, at the very least.

“Okaayy, I gave you the choice so don’t blame me if this doesn’t work.” A single, anticipative head turn towards their mentor’s aircraft was all that Marcus could achieve before a singular word was called out over the radio: “Engage.”

Upon that word, hell broke loose as, in the training program, four sets of MLAAs were launched from either side. All five of the pilots there knew they would probably miss, but it didn’t matter. Each aircraft dodged their respective missiles which forced all of them into random positions relative to each other as everyone instinctively dodged. There was initially a panic from Marcus as he couldn’t find his wingman, but another missile alert forced him to focus on the shooter above him.

His head snapped to his aggressor in an instant while pulling his stick to the right and and pulled, forcing his aircraft to roll in to merge. Hawk 5 and 8 passed each other with afterburners screaming and pulling into the opposite’s path, contrails cutting through the sky.

The two MG-29s tumbled, turned, and twisted towards the desert with Marcus finding himself behind Hawk 8 as they neared the sands below. Admittedly, he nearly lost his opponent for a split second, solely thanks to the paint job it possessed, but the targeting system prevented his critical error. What it couldn’t prevent, however, was the opposition's decision to move wildly and dump all of his speed so that they could try to force an overtake.

It nearly worked as Marcus at first mimicked his movements in reflex to get a gun solution, causing him to get extremely close to slamming into them. A rapid adjustment in movement followed, the nose of his aircraft becoming elevated to gain altitude while he slammed the throttle forward once again to ignite his afterburners.

The cracking, deafening roar of the twin engines vibrated his whole body and caused a smile to form from the adrenaline with the sands rapidly falling behind him. Then, with a snap roll, he turned his cockpit over to face the ground and watched as his sparring opponent was still hugging the dunes below, kicking up and leaving a wake of dust as he went, making him an easy target to sight.

With the flick of a switch and the smile of a devil, a virtual STDM was set loose on the wiggling MG-29 below. A few seconds later, the first kill of the simulated dogfight was declared and Hawk 8 had been defeated.

Sighing deeply to counter the abundance of adrenaline through his body, he radioed- “Hawk 6, what’s your stat-”

“ON YOUR ASS! BREAK LEFT!”

_ Oh shit. _

Hearts probably weren’t meant to beat as fast as his own did in that short instance, but there wasn’t much time to contemplate what it could mean in the long term for his health as he did as his wingman told him, braking left and upwards. He didn’t see Hawk 7 blast past him, but he certainly heard and felt it as the airframe shook like it was in the hands of an earthquake while on the tarmac. Rotating his head to the right, he caught a glimpse of his other opponent rushing by in that split second before quickly reducing in size as he drew further and further away by the second. What got him to jump again was his wingman blasting by just as quickly and as closely as the one before, violently vibrating the airframe once more.

As the second of the two enemy MG-29s reached the apex of their climb and tried to roll over to for another pass on Marcus, Andy quickly latched onto his tail and let off a burst of non-existent 30mm shells, netting another kill for the pilots to add to their tally over the simulated dogfighting match.

A celebratory cry from Andy heard over the radio while Marcus simply sighed with a beaming smile having returned to his face. “Man, I told you that we should have tried something else. Nearly lost that one.”

“Yea, yea. But we still won and that’s what matters.” A head shake was all that Marcus could muster before being interrupted by another transmission. “Hawk 1, engaging.”

Where his heart had just been soaring, it now tumbled down into his stomach and to the rudder pedals of the Magadanian aircraft as panic set in, knowing full well what was coming next. Marcus’s first instinct was to check the radar which displayed nothing but his wingman’s position for a split second before an enemy appeared on the display and closed rapidly on him. Desperately, he looked for his pursuer and tried to bring his nose to bear, but Wisp had already gotten behind him, appearing suddenly like a ghost.

_ Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. _ “Derrick!? Where the fuck are you?”

“I’m coming, just hang on!”

“Come on! What do you think I’m doin’ already?” The world around his canopy kept on spinning and spinning as he tried desperately to maneuver in order to avoid his instructor’s simulated fire of the occasional burst of cannon rounds punctuated by a heatseeker. Slowly, they bring each other to speeds so low that they’re nearly stalling by the time that Marcus realizes that he had brought both of them up in altitude to around 11,000 feet.

“Okay, I’m on hi- shit, he just broke off onto me!”

“Fuck me… Okay, I’m swinging around!”

Again, Wisp had seemingly changed positions almost instantly like a ghost and had begun chasing Andy. With the both of them out of range from his STDMs, Marcus flipped to MLAAs and fired two with around a second in between each one fired. It took a moment for the simulated missiles to get to their target and, unfortunately, both missed resulting in Andy being declared shot down despite his best efforts to avoid the result. Wisp then turned the nose of his F/C-15 onto Marcus’s MG-29 and began charging towards him.

As if being put into a trance, the fresh pilot pushed his throttle to max once more and began to match Wisp’s charge. They closed the distance without either one making a move to avoid each other making the oncoming pass inevitable with neither firing an STDM once in range. Then, the click of a trigger was heard in the cockpit of the MG-29.


	15. Nested - Part 2.2-1

**432 AC**

A singular week had passed since Operation Broken Chain and it was almost like things were back to normal as if they were in the Dustlands, if the Dustlands were damned cold with a lot more trees and mountains. Hawk had settled into their barracks and the flow of the day to day events were as if they were back home: drinking coffee, doing whatever they could do to not keep themselves bored out of their minds, and going out on CAP when told to. There was, however, one consistent problem that plagued the entire base and not just Prey’s detachment: the MREs.

Stomach problems had taken a sharp rise everywhere due to the spoiling MREs and needless to say, it wasn’t going well. The fruits of their last major sortie were beginning to bear fruit in the shape of better logistics, but the toll was taken and hundreds of MREs were being dumped. This had led to more than a few incursions of wild animals around the base, the primary danger being bears while Hawk had been relying on their stashed emergency food supplies in their own barracks to keep away from disturbed stomachs.

Marcus, having filled his stomach, had just climbed into bed a couple hours ago, letting his everl-exhausted body drag him sharply into the dark comfort of sleep. Everyone else in Hawk had found themselves asleep far before him and were already deep into their slumber, so no one but him noticed the noises coming from outside their barracks.

A couple of rustling noises were heard by him as he woke up alone. Then, a large shadow appeared, blocking out the light from the tarmac lights that shined through it. A dull thud emanated from the door a couple of times before Marcus slowly reached under his pillow to grab his sidearm.

With utmost care and silence, he got out of bed and racked his pistol, then tip-toed towards the door. His eyes adjusted slowly and the silhouette became clear.

_You’ve gotta be shittin’ me, a fuckin’ bear?_ He thought. _Don’t tell me you smell the food in here…_

Resolving to not get himself killed, at least alone, he slowly shook awake Garry. “Hey, Dyno, get the fuck up. We’ve got a fuckin’ bear at the door.” A low groan came from the animal as it smelled around the edges of the window while trying to find a way in.

Garry slowly awoke, quietly and groggily, and grabbed his own rifle from under his bed. “You’re bullshittin’ me, bo- _oh shit_.” A tone of annoyance was replaced by a tone of suppressed shock. “What the fuck are we gonna do? Try to kill it?”

“Scare it off.” Marcus said. “Easy enough, just make a fuck load of noise, right?”

“Are you fucking insane? That thing’ll kill us if you open the door!”

“Well, only way to find out, huh?” Marcus flashed a trademark smile before disaster inevitably struck.

* * *

“So, you said the bear had tried breaking into your barracks,” the Colonel, rather annoyed, was piecing together the story. “And you thought it was a great idea to just make a bunch of noise.”

“Yes, sir.” Although both Marcus and Garry were mercs, the attitude that the Colonel was giving forced them to unconsciously act like enlisted soldiers being reprimanded by a Staff Sergeant.

“So then, after it tried getting in, you decided it was a _brilliant_ idea to fuckin’ shoot the thing, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And upon your fire, you managed to not only wake up the rest of your pilots, but also put the whole entire base on alert, driving nearly everyone else into a frenzy thinking that the Federation had just made a raid on the airfield… By the Dustmother, do you enjoy giving me a headache?”

“No, Sir.”

The Colonel just sighed, frustrated with the events of having a whole base go on alert because two mercenaries had just shot up a wild bear that could have just been left alone. They didn’t have any foodstuffs in their sleeping quarters, so why would it have been a problem?

“Just don’t fuckin’ shootup another animal like that again, Taurus. This isn’t the Periphery.” The exasperated officer shook his head, looking to at least try to be optimistic. “I guess at the very least, we’ll be having something fresh to eat for dinner tonight… God damnit, dismissed.”

Without another word, both of the mercs left the office of the now not-so-steaming base commander, closing the door behind them. They stood there for a moment in silence, piecing together what had happened in their heads only for the both of them to burst into snickers as they began making their way back to their barracks. The snickers then turned into laughing. Which then turned into hysterics.

Maybe it was the stress that had built up that was finally getting released or just the absurdity of the situation, but they sat there in the cold for a few minutes just laughing themselves to tears. But with all things, it came to an end. “Jesus, Dyno, I honestly… Oh shit, I honestly don’t know what to say at this point… Ohh, fuck… Ahaha…” Marcus was barely holding it together.

“Fuck boss… I don’t either… Jesus… I do know one thing…” Garry finally managed to get a hold of himself enough to take his hands off of his knees to stand straight up. “This’ll be a _great_ story when we get back home after all of this…” A wry smile crept across his face.

“Yea, and no one’ll believe it either… Fuck, but I guess that’s the best part about it, huh?” A slap on the back was delivered to Garry.

“I guess so… Ah shit, let’s head inside. Can’t wait to get yelled at by _‘dad’_.”

* * *

**427 AC**

The bar was rowdy, as always, and there was a new face joining Andy and Marcus to their usual walk. Garry, the newest hatchling, had made quite an impression on them during selection for combat aircraft within Prey Security. Though the rest of Hawk had bowed out of the drinking night for a myriad of reasons, the three left were still determined to have a halfway decent time with or without them.

As they sat at the bar, Garry piped up as they waited for their drinks in the smoke filled building. “So, how do flyboys earn their callsigns? I asked around a bit before qualifying, but I never did get a straight answer. Although one guy said that it was ‘when you do stupid shit’ or somethin’ like that.” A sharp swig of beer followed, a mere primer for the later drinks.

Marcus grinned as he took a swig of his own beer. “Well, that honestly isn’t too far off. That _can_ be why and is often the reason for it, but it can sometimes be for other reasons.”

“Well Marcus, how’d you ‘n Andy get yours?” Garry asked.

“You want to know? Alright, one sec.” Marcus, not wanting to be tempted to stop talking, quickly drank the rest of his beer in his bottle before speaking again. “So, I’ll start with ‘Rubber’ here. You’ve seen him messing around with rubber bands plenty, right?”

Garry nodded. “Yea. What, he mess around with them too much or some shit?”

“Well, kinda.” Andy elbowed Marcus with some force as he drank, on his second beer already. “So, we were in the Creole Republic escorting a diplomat or someone like that, we never did actually get a straight answer now that I think about it… Bah, whatever. So we ended up getting into the briefing and good lord, it took for fuckin’ ever. So a couple of the older guard of Hawk fell asleep, including Wisp.”

“Wait, you mean the old man actually fell asleep during a briefing?”

“Yep,” The red-headed man put his hand over his heart with a subtle smile. “I swear it.” Garry displayed his own in disbelief and shook his head, waiting for Marcus to continue.

“So, no one was paying attention to Andy as he was fuckin’ with a rubber band, doing the ol’ finger gun thing. Some time goes by and he stops paying attention to what he’s doing and, of course, starts pointing it around the room all covert like, like a damned goof, so he doesn’t get told to knock it off. Well… he ends up letting loose by accident and- actually, fuck it, make a guess as to who it hit.”

Garry thought only for a split second before replying. “It was Wisp, wasn’t it?”

A wide, knowing grin came across Marcus’s face. “Nope. The poor fuckin’ breifing officer that had walked just in front of him. He wasn’t wearing very thick pants and this was, apparently, a heavy-duty rubber band. Put those two together and the poor S.O.B. was buckled over reaching for his junk.”

Garry sat there for a moment taking the story in, then laughing a little as Andy worked on his third beer. “Fuckin’ hell, the man who acts like the dad of the squadron really did that?”

An embarrassed “Nooo…” came from Marcus’s wingman, but it was too late to deny the story.

“Yep. Sure as fuck did. He obviously doesn’t mess with them as much nowadays, but remember to watch out when he does.” Marcus popped open the cap on his freshly gifted beer from the bartender, taking a casual swig.

“So… Where’d you end up getting yours?” Garry took a final drink of his own beer, wearing a face that made out to say ‘so, how stupid is this gonna be’ or something along those lines.

“Oh man, that’s a story in and of itself…”


	16. Nested - Part 2.2-2

**426 AC**

It may have been the western fringes of Rzeki territory, but where there were Prey mercs or Rzeki servicemen, there was always at least one bar and this is where Hawk found themselves as the day turned to evening. As with any bar, smoke was awaft with music playing at a volume that was _slightly_ too loud and beating on Marcus’s ear drums just a _bit_ too much. Many came to call this bar their watering hole which included Hawk team for the duration of their stay and it was here that they found themselves downing their preferred alcoholic beverages and found the other members, regardless of experience or seniority, to be equals.

Uproarious laughter came from the team as one of their members finished the punchline to a story while Marcus and Joseph ‘Wisp’ Illing had managed to secure their own part of the bar for themselves as they talked. The talk was the primary reason why Marcus hadn’t drunk his normal amount just yet, but he had a whiskey in his hand calling his name.

Wisp, for his part, had taken to drinking something non-alcoholic for the time being, if only to keep an eye on his fellow pilots in case they got into trouble. With everyone else being well on their way to drunkeness and Marcus himself being close to starting his own path to intoxication, he managed to get a fairly meaningful conversation going with his protege. “I meant what I stated earlier, Marcus. Both you and Andy have some real potential in what you can do together as pilots. I’ve learned personally with my old wingman that you must be able to trust and rely on each other. If you’ve got that, then you’re almost guaranteed to win.”

“Yea, yea, I know boss. It’s just that… how am I gonna be able to trust myself to be able to help my wingman just as well as they’ll help me? Up until now, I’ve never fought before in my life unless it was some stupid shit in school.” Marcus quickly took a heavy swig of the sharp drink he had, condensation rolling off of the glass to meet the floor or his flight suit. “Hell, the only reason why I’ve even taken up doing combat flights in the first place is because my family needs the damned money to not get put out on the dirt roads thanks to my fuckin’ dumbass of a father… _Fuckin’ jackass…_ ”

“Trust in yourself comes with time, Marcus. The more you practice, the better you’ll perform. You have some innate skill already present there that you demonstrated today and so does Andy. If that’s anything to go by, I’d say that it’s learning to trust your wingman rather than yourself.”

“Maybe…” _Maybe… But that isn’t at all my worry… Damnit, why is that so hard to understand? That maybe I don’t know what I’m doing._ Hidden frustration was free flowing as he stared at his glass of whiskey for a moment but he eventually tuned out from his thoughts and back into the conversation with Wisp.

“…esides having to trust your wingman, I should probably tell you a line of wisdom that someone told me while I was in Oceania. Her name was Frost… Frost something, I don’t quite recall, actually… Anyways, she said something along the lines of ‘no matter what you say about what you’re in this line of work for, there’s always something personal about it.’ And she’s right. The thing that you should take away from what she said is no contract is ever solely about the money. If you think that it’s just as simple as working for another paycheck, then you’re sorely mistaken… However, I think you realize that already.”

Silent awkwardness filled the air between the two of them for a moment as Marcus stared at his drink for a while longer, ultimately nodding. “After hearing you talk about Oceania before, I think you’re right… But thanks for the ad-”

It was then that some shouting was heard by the both of them as the prospective Hawk 7 and 8 had seemingly begun harassing Andy in his drunken stupor. Regardless of what had started it, Marcus instinctively rose to his feet to help. _Trust and rely on each other, huh?_ The buzzed pilot contemplated. _Guess that starts now._

Having not really drank in full yet, Marcus quickly rose to his feet and started moving for the apparent confrontation that was brewing. Andy was clearly heard over the music and that guided him to the small crowd forming around it. “Hey, get the fuck off of me, man!”

“Shut the hell up! You cheated or got preferential treatment or something! There’s no way you’ve kept on beating us legit!”

“Oh, so what? You’re gonna beat my ass on the ground to prove you’re better? Is that it?” Marcus walked up behind one of the assailants and prepared to act. “Yea, we are you son-of-a-bitch!” The swing that the man holding onto Andy was about to take was interrupted by Marcus, having quickly charged and shoulder checked him onto the floor and received a solid right hook from the assailant’s wingman immediately after.

He stumbled backwards into Andy he himself managed to gain some semblance of control and help right Marcus’s balance. It was then that, in his rage, Marcus began a smooth and straight walk towards the man who punched him, winding his head back as he approached.

The impact his forehead had on the man’s nose was brutal with an audible crack on the first hit. He took a hold of his enemy’s collar with the heavy impact of a headbutt being delivered twice more before the bloodied man was let go and thrown to the ground. The first assailant then rose from the floor and prepared his retribution for Andy who was still looking towards the direction of Marcus before being stopped by another man. Wisp, true to his callsign and tendencies, had inverted just in time to prevent things from escalating any further.

“Hawk 7 and 8… We are going to have a talk. Hawk 5 and 6, go home. We’ll discuss this tomorrow once you’ve both sobered up… Oh, and Marcus? Take care of Andy, would you?” Disappointment. It was all that was showing on the pale face of the old mercenary. Marcus stood for a moment watching as Wisp dragged Hawk 7 and 8 out of the bar, one scared shitless and the other bleeding heavily from the nose.

He took a couple of seconds after they left before approaching Andy and picking him up, narrowly avoiding getting vomited on.

Whether they realized it or not, Hawk 7 and 8 were about to lose their positions within not only Hawk, but their jobs within Prey Security as a whole thanks to their actions. Marus, meanwhile, had just earned a callsign. And a minor concussion.

* * *

**427 AC**

Garry didn’t believe Marcus at first, but upon closer inspection of the future flight leader’s hairline, he saw the hidden scar that he possessed and began laughing. “How… how do you fuckin’ think like that, man?”

Marcus simply shook his head and went back to work on his beer. “I dunno, I just did. Had to do somethin’ and that’s what came to mind in my little bit of rage right then. Was it stupid? Oh, abso-fuckin’-lutely. But I could have gotten a worse callsign other than ‘Taurus’. Part of the only reason why I got it anyways was because of my birthday being in timeframe for the astrological horoscope or whatever-the-fuck that thing is.”

“ _Seriously?_ God, one of my exes was obsessed with that shit. Always tried predicting stuff based off of our birthdays… About the only thing she got right was that we wouldn't last long- bitch cheated.” Garry shook his head and chuckled some. “Don’t know if she just so happened to get that one right or if she was dropping a hint, but hey, I dodged a bullet either way.”

“Hmph. You don’t sound too cut up about it, so I guess so.” Marcus said. “Either way, just be careful about doing shit from here on. Otherwise, you’re gonna earn a callsign real fast and that won’t go away unless you join a new outfit… Assuming, of course, they’d want you to change it.”

“Pft, fuck that. I’ll keep where I’m comfortable and right now, that’s here.” Garry simply held up his drink for a toast.

Marcus took up the offer, slamming back the tequila they had in their glasses in sync after the toast. “Good, you’ll be a great fit then. Just try not to get into too many fights, I’ve heard stories about you from the boots back in Midtown. Quite the record of bar fights, yourself.”

Garry paused for a moment out of surprise, and a bit of embarrassment. “Yeaaa… No guarantees that I won’t be able to cut that habit if your tradition of drink nights keeps up.”

“Baah, just try not to fight anyone in Hawk or try killin’ anyone and you’ll be fine.” A small wave of the hand dismissed the worry, then took up another shot while a commotion was brewing further down the bar.


	17. Nested - Part 2.3

**428 AC**

“Y’know, I’m getting real fuckin’ tired of this scenery.” The pilot on Marcus’s right wing sounded fed up and tired. Afterall, they were missing out on the brewing border conflict back East. But a contract was a contract, and the flight of tan MG-29s still had a mission to carry out rather than complain, no matter how much the recent addition to Hawk complained.

“Listen Dyno, it’s just for the next couple of weeks and it’ll be easy as hell. All we have to do is to just perform CAP and CAS for the next couple of days for the boots. Then, we’ll be basically just sitting on alert after that.” Marcus replied.

“Pff, I hope not. I know that we’ve gotta do what we’re told, but these rouge mercs _have_ to be capable of puttin’ up a better fight than what they have since we got here. Damned Feds are getting all of the fun.” It was barely perceivable, but Garry shook his head in his ordnance laden fighter as he spoke.

“We’ll probably get a good fight out of them yet, but calm is better than hell, right Taurus?” Andy chimed.

“Yup. Dyno, you may miss that kind of action, but trust me when I say that you’ll get your baptism by fire soon enough.” A grin appeared on Marcus’s face as he stopped transmitting and looked around the sky and horizon in the absence of a response from Dyno. Midday, the bright blue sky met the mostly desolate landscape of the Dustlands, far from their homes. “How about you, Remy? You sittin’ pretty?”

“Sure as hell am, boss. I’m fuckin’ ready to get a taste of combat, but unlike Dyno, I can actually keep my pants on.” Remy replied, the smile audible through his microphone.

“Uh huh. Just keep yourself from being the loose cannon…”

Excitement was arife to be flying again as they had been hurting for action over the past few months, but Hawk Team had to be split up with Joseph taking the senior four members to the most contested area of fighting. Marcus, meanwhile, got the later half and was tasked with supporting the specialized ground units of their company in raids against the rogue Alibi Solutions. He was excited to be leading for the first time, but also relieved to not be heading to the hotter parts of the fighting. Afterall, it wasn’t just Alibi Solutions they were fighting out here.

“Hawk 2-1, this is Granite Actual, update. Break.” Marcus immediately perked up and began paying attention to the command network again, being quiet for the past hour. “New enemy ground contacts to our north, bearing 348. They’ve opened fire from out of our range with small arms near some civilian buildings, abandoned. Standby for 9-line. How copy, over.”

“Heads up, boys. We’re on call.”

* * *

“…Standby 2 plus 40, ready, ready, HACK. Out.” His communication was clean, just like he was trained, and quickly cut to his flight around him.

“Everybody get that?” A steady flow of somewhat-static infused affirmatives came from around Marcus’s ears. “Excellent, then let’s go. Banking left, time to target is now 2 plus 30.”

From the center, the MG-29 rolled left and increased the pitch before extending the position of his throttle and letting the engines stretch their legs. One by one, his fellow mercs caught back up with him in a loose, long formation. _2 plus 10,_ he tracked.

Although time was flowing just as it always had and always will, it felt slow. Their first blood about to be spilt by Hawk's least senior members was the first drop in around three months. Marcus assumed it was simply some of Alibi’s ground mercs fucking with Prey’s own boots, but there was a _hint_ of uncertainty sitting in his mind that he pushed down.

“Hey Taurus, this sound like the MO of Alibi’s boys at all? From what I’ve heard from the boots back at the airfield, they like to get in there fast as hell like ours,” Garry stated. “Not sticking around from a long range and just tryin’ to shoot ‘em.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Point is that they’re shooting at our guys while they’re trying to get their job done and that’s not gonna fly- not while we’re out here.” _1 plus 25… He does have a point, though. But we can’t hang on who they are. Hostiles are hostiles, no matter who’s shooting, as long as they’re shooting at you._ The sand dunes, in all of their coarse glory, went by faster and faster under their feet and fighters as the sun reached its zenith in the barren, cloudless skies.

“I’m sure that we’ll be fine either way, Dyno. It’s like Taurus said, they decided to shoot at our guys while we’re around and they’ve dug their proverbial grave, so now they’re gonna have to lie in it. Ain’t that right, Remy?” Andy said.

“I’m just out here to earn some cash. If I have to drop some bombs on these dumb bastards to get it, then fine by me.” Michael was terse and to the point, much in contrast to the rest of his team. Of course, if anyone called his bluff, he’d crumble pretty hard on the bit about ‘just out here to earn some cash’ and the notion of willing to do anything for it. But the three others knew this already, especially Marcus.

“Well, you’ll get plenty of a chance here in about 45, Remy boy… Speaking of, tally-ho on the targets. They’re using green tracers it looks like, so use those to guide yourself onto the buildings.” Marcus took his fighter off-center from the heading of the target compound and began to roll away before pulling back on the stick. “Okay y'all, just like we practiced. I’ll take first drop and we’ll go two GBSs per bird.”

In a split second, Marcus rolled his aircraft back to the other side and began to pitch to the bearing of the CAS target, then sharply elevated his nose to gain altitude. Admittedly, his blood began pumping with adrenaline as he keyed his mic. “Granite Actual, Hawk 2-1. 20 seconds to engagement. Standby for pickle, over.”

  
The world narrowed a little, and only a little, before the nose of the tan MG-29 dipped hard and the bomb indicator appeared on his HUD near the designated cluster of buildings. _10\. 9. 8…_


	18. Nested - Part 2.4

There was something grainy in his mouth. It was familiar in the feeling and taste… It wasn’t from the time he spent in the Creole Republic or the one time they were hired for a job on the UAS’s coast, it was something else. From somewhere else.

The Dustlands, that was it. That damned, scarred land. The vast, endless, dry waste that was the home of numerous bandits, smugglers, and- _wait._

_Why am I here? Ain’t I in… hold on, where was I again?_

The next thing that he realized was the slightly different taste of the sand. He didn’t really know _why_ he could tell it was off, but he just could. It felt like it was charred to a degree, like flames had briefly passed over it all, leaving the trail of black marks across his surroundings. The surroundings… He hadn’t moved yet, as he’d been staring up at the cloudless sky the entire time while sprawled out on his back, just baking in the sun.

But the need to move arose and overrode the desire to remain how he was. With some trouble, the man got to his feet and immediately set upon dusting off his flight suit. It was after that he truly began to take in his surroundings. It was a war zone, a small bombed out group of buildings to be exact. And all that remained of it was ruin.

Rubble and wood was strewn all around him, like simple toys tossed about by a child who threw a temper tantrum. Maybe this was a place with a couple of store fronts with some homes around it or just one of those rare safe-havens in the Dustlands. Some of it was burning, barely any of it was untouched, but whatever this place was before is too far long gone to be recognizable.

The cars and trucks around him didn’t fare much better, nor did their occupants… or the people outside of them, either. A handful of them had guns on them-- hell, a pickup truck or two had a heavy machine gun on them, but the rest didn’t have much save for their clothes. The ones who were armed didn’t even wear proper military gear either. All they had were civilian clothes with some loose equipment, too cheap to be mercs.

Then, the rumble of four fighter jets came into ear shot, the only thing he _could_ hear that entire time. Not the burning wood or the wind that was blowing throughout it all, just those jets. They flew past low, plastered in the familiar flat-tan of his company, before blasting off into the sky again, apparently satisfied with their work.

It all came back to him, in that instant. This was their CAS target and that was them flying over. _But then why am I here?_

“It’s your fault, Marcus,” a familiar voice said. “I told you that you were gonna get people killed and become just like the blood-hounds in Oceania.”

Slowly, Marcus turned and came to face his old man, Shawn. “Dad?”

“I tried tellin’ you, boy, that you’d become like this. But you just couldn’t listen, you just had to go after that blood money, didn’t you?”

His heartbeat began picking up pace and his throat became tighter. “I had to! You left us no other choice!”

“YOU ALWAYS HAVE A CHOICE! AND LOOK WHAT IT GOT THESE PEOPLE!” Shawn, whether it was really him or not, didn’t hold back.

“It isn’t my fault!” Marcus protested, his breathing now joining his heart’s accelerated pace. “Goddamnit, it isn’t! Someone else pointed the-”

“But _YOU_ pulled the trigger, right?! _You_ were the one to drop those bombs, weren’t you?!”

“Y-yes, but I-”

“You could have prevented all of this,” Shawn swung his arm out to bring wider attention. Some bombs evidently went wide and strayed from their target.

Marcus’s heart, still beating like a race horse’s hooves hitting the ground, sank into his stomach as he began to truly realize what had happened. His lungs felt like they were coming up short on oxygen while the rest of his body started to tremble with the beginning of sweat coming from his head. “It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault… It’s not my…”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, kiddo. Maybe one day you’ll actually convince someone…” Shawn’s voice faded as began walking down one of the mared streets, disappearing behind the pitch black smoke from one of the burning cars surrounding them. But Marcus stayed there, collapsing to his knees, repeating the same phrase to himself: “It’s not my fault…”

“It’s not my fault…”

“It’s not my fault…”

* * *

**432 AC**

  
  


“...ake up. Fuck’s sake, wake up, Marcus! _Marcus!_ ”

The flight leader’s eyes shot open and his hand snapped onto the forearm of the man currently trying to shake him awake. His grip was like iron and immediately put pressure on the underside of whoever’s forearm, trying to loosen their grip on pure instinct. His breathing and heart rate, just like in the dream, were still going incredibly fast before he quickly gained control of himself, turning to see Andy’s worried eyes peering back at him.

“I’m awake, Rubber. And I’m fine, so you can stop giving me that look,” Marcus said, coldly.

“Bullshit you are! You had that damned nightmare again, didn’t you?” Andy retorted.

“Yea, I did. It’s been a while since I have, but like I said already, I’m fine.”

“That doesn’t convince me, _Taurus_.”

“Well too damned bad, because that’s all I’m gonna tell you. You’re not my damned shrink, you’re by brother-in-arms.” Finally, Marcus managed to get Andy to let go of his shoulder and sat up, forcing his wingman to step back. Looking around for just a split second, he could see that they were the only ones in the barracks at that moment as well.

“I’m still here for you, Marcus! Don’t get a fuckin’ tumble weed up your ass over me just trying to help.” Just like a couple weeks ago, that wounded tone seeped into Andy’s voice as he spoke. “Jesus, man… Just, calm down and take a breather. It looks like you were getting chased by a damned rabid dog.”

“I- sorry, you just know how that dream makes me get sometimes.” Doing as suggested, he stops for a moment to take a breath of air and calm himself the rest of the way down. He couldn’t help but notice that the team’s barracks were devoid of anyone else, prompting a simple question: “Where’s everyone at?”

“Running around like chickens with their heads cut off since Solana just got taken out. Ought to have seen the rush once everyone realized it, but your ass just had to sleep in after escorting for that airfield strike into Magada- hey! Where are you going?”

Without saying anything, Marcus jumped out of bed and threw on his flight suit and some boots before grabbing a jacket and heading for the door with his phone, only then stopping to reply. “I’ve got some calls to make.”


	19. Nested - Part 2.5

Marcus judged that his jacket was nearly inadequate as he began to walk to his team’s hangar, but it’d have to be enough.  _ Certainly better than just roasting in the Dustlands _ , he thought.  _ At least here you can fight the temperature. _

Though his mind didn’t stay on the condition of the weather in northern Cascadia for very long. He had a call to make and he needed to get it done with Solana being neutralized, and he wasted no time in getting started on that very thing. With the swift movement of his right hand, the phone provided to him by Prey Security came to the forefront, quickly being unlocked and navigated to the contacts stored on it.

As the simple thud of his boots against the concrete walkway mixed with the newly familiar soft crunch of fresh snowfall, he scrolled through the numerous names stored on his phone. Most were, of course, company contacts and members of the other teams under Prey. But there were some outliers― mainly friends and some family contacts, but he moved past those fairly quickly before coming to his intended contact.

Tapping on it after finishing the short walk and entering Hawk’s first assigned hangar, he quickly checked to see if there was anyone else present. Fortunately, there wasn’t. The things present were the four Agile Eagles and the tools of their mechanics strewn about the tables and floor making for a silent audience, but it was one that couldn’t tell the story that was about to take place. With a huff of relief, Marcus finally tapped on the phone number displayed under “Wisp”. He, along with a select few others in Prey Security knew where he was and what he did now.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t be using the company phone.

The rapid automatic dial played out before he could get the phone to his ear, although the dull tone indicating a phone ringing on the other side kept him company as he waited. He hadn’t noticed before, but his heart had begun racing with anticipation once the number dialed, what with not having talked to him for around a year or more.  _ What would he be like? Was he still the same quiet old man? Or did he lean full int _ ―

“Harrison speaking.” Marcus jumped as he was quickly brought back to reality from the quick side trip through worries by the familiar voice, but unfamiliar accent of the man on the other line. “Hello? I swear if it’s one of those damned telemarketers again…”

“No, it ain’t Wisp,” Marcus said, wearing a small grin. “I can’t say that I’m callin’ to try to sell you something, but I can say that I’m sorry for not ever calling you since you retired.”

“Ah, young Mr. Abrams.” The false accent on the other end of the line quickly dissipated and was replaced with that signature posh-like accent that Marcus had come to know so well from Joseph Iling. “I must say that I’m quite pleased that you indeed are not trying to sell me more insurance for my car or to inform me that there is a warrant out for my arrest. Although I can’t say that I’m not disappointed that you never did call after I left, I know that you’ve probably kept busy at the very least since then.”

“‘Busy’ would be one way of putting it, yea… How’s life where you’re at? You and I have been out of the loop of each other’s stories for some time, Joe.”

“I’ve managed to keep busy myself, though I must say that civilian flying has been quite interesting over the past few months thanks to the war in the west. They’ve locked down a lot of air corridors under the company I’m flying for right now, especially after the Cascadian air arm decided to shoot down Federation air logistics that were close to civilians. Something about mercenaries getting a little too close?” Iling always knew how to poke and prod at everyone and this time was no different.

Marcus sighed, scratching the back of his head with an involuntary chuckle and grin, knowing full well that he was talking about Broken Chain. “Let me guess, it was a video of our fighters, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was. I’m impressed that you managed to actually handle that operation so well, but I’m also disappointed that you got so close to civilians. I thought I taught you to be  _ professional _ , not playing loose and fast, Marcus. Hell, I’m surprised that the Rzeki government let you take this contract.”

“Look, we didn’t have much choice once we signed the contract, we just did the best we could like you taught us. Hell, I managed to pass up 30 kills with it and Andy isn’t that far behind, we fought as cleanly as we could with no losses either. I wish I could say the same for the poor bastards in the Cascadian air unit that worked with us from the airfield…” Marcus trailed off, remembering how badly beaten Aurora had been. “That reminds me, the reason why I called.”

“So it wasn’t a social call at all, hm?” Iling asked, sarcasm lightly coming through to Marcus’s ear.

“No, sorry to disappoint.” He responded in kind. “The airgroup that tore apart our CIF counterparts numbered only four aircraft, all flying Sk. 37s. The CIF group initially got pushed off by an airship patrol and they evaded them pretty well with no losses then, but then that group of four showed up and started cutting them to ribbons, even with the four to one odds.”

“Do you know who they were?” Iling asked.

“Yea, Gyr Squadron. They managed to cut down seven F/C-15s and 16s in a fairly short amount of time, but that wasn’t what really got us… They used the same frequency that you gave us for Hawk Team― same code, same freq, everything. That’s why I wanted to ask you about ‘em, to see if you had ever heard about them or seen anything of them while you were fighting in Oceania.”

There was a long pause of silence over the phone. Marcus chalked it up to the old man on the other end of the line digging through old war stories and scars of the mind, and the start of Iling’s speech confirmed that with it sounding like he had just gone looking for an item he swore he had. “No, I don’t believe so… You do have to keep in mind that there was only really Cobalt Squadron that had tore up the mercenaries in Oceania before the war ended. Any other Federation unit that gathered fame was either from a few mentions or were airships. Though it is odd that they used the same frequency as us, I like to think that I would have remembered such a thing.”

“Well, I just wanted to pick your brain about it. It’s awful odd since Andy consulted with one of the intel boys here and he said that our freq is pretty far off of the band of usual Fedie shit. What’s even weirder is that one of them had an accent similar to yours along with a Cascadian and Magadanian pilot. The fourth one didn’t speak, I don’t think.”

There was a shorter pause from Iling this time, but he quickly rallied once more and spoke again. “What, like mine?” He laughed a little before continuing on. “Goodness, that must be one helluva circus of a squadron to be painted like that, I must say… Though in all seriousness, I believe you’ll be fine, Marcus. You were approaching my skill level and even surpassed me by the time I retired, not to mention the rest of the team getting far better by then as well. If you run into them, I feel as though everything would be alright.”

“I suppose so, it just feels like there’s a lot more to this that isn’t in our hands yet. Gyr didn’t mess around with the Cascadian units and they could have had a good chance to punch some of our tickets, but they turned off after they saw us approaching. It just doesn’t feel right is all…”

“I'm sure it’ll all work out. Besides, the odds of you running into them again are pretty low if they were where that video said… I’d say it’s just better to worry about your team, alright?”

“Yea, yea. Just hard not to keep your eyes elsewhere sometimes.”

Though he couldn’t see it, Marcus could hear the small smile come across Iling’s face. “Oh, I know all too well.” A small commotion could be heard on Iling’s end of the phone line before being cut off by the man himself. “Apologies, but it seems like  _ someone’s _ having a little temper tantrum. I’ll have to talk to you again once more at a later point, Marcus. Good talking to you again.”

“Good talking to you too, Joe. Keep safe.”

“Don’t call me tha― hey, don’t touch that part!”  _ click _

Marcus chuckled at the phone call being cut short by what sounded like a curious infant that was probably getting a little handsy with the home-phone of his mentor.  _ Guess he does have his hands full back home too, huh? _ He thought.

Out of habit, he took his phone from his ear and looked at the screen, seeing a name barely peeking out from the top, staring at him and daring to be gazed upon.  _ Travis. _

He mulled it over in his head for a bit, the quiet beginnings of snowfall falling outside once more. Finding himself gazing outside, he remembered the dust storms, so much more violent, rolling through their homestead while huddled with his siblings. Abigail, Travis, and him all stuffed together under the stairs as the wind shook the house. The heart in his chest hurt a little in missing those times where their family was still whole, but he knew deeper down that it wasn’t going to come back.

Though just a call couldn’t hurt, at least.

* * *

“Hello?” The voice on the other end wasn’t too far from Marcus’s own, but it wasn’t as gravely or deep as the man who usually would answer for his brother.

“Travis, it’s been some time. Dad still treatin’ you like a mule?” His heart hurt again asking that question, but he knew what the answer likely was.

“What the hell do you want, Marcus? The last time we talked was when I tried calling you about Abigail disappearing on us four years ago after the fight between you and dad.” His brother sounded mad, but also crushed to some degree. Marcus couldn’t lie to himself about not feeling the same way about their sister cutting them out of their life, but he had pushed it down a long time ago for a reason.

“I’m just calling to see how everything’s going back home. Is the money I’ve been sending enough?”

“Yea, but dad keeps screwin’ shit up like he always does. We’re managing to keep the debt down from the Daniels, but it’s only a matter of time before they make a visit again.”

_ Again? _ Marcus thought.  _ How bad has it gotten since I left? _

“Jesus, Bub… Listen, I’m workin’ on a contract right now that’ll hopefully be a large enough payout that it’ll settle that debt.”

“God damnit, Marcus! You said that once before and it barely put a dent in it! Where the hell could you possibly be to get that… much…” Marcus’s brother trailed off, thinking at the end of his sentences before putting the figurative two-and-two together. “You’re in Cascadia, aren’t you?”

“Yea, I am. We’ve already made a decent amount of money here, but I don’t know how long we’ll be before our job here is done and over with. Just try to get dad not to be too reckless and you guys should be able to hold on until we get paid. As much of an ungrateful bastard he is, he’s still our father and still family.”

“I know he is, Marc. Just try not to get yourself killed in the process. If this doesn’t work out, I think I’m done with trying to help him and I’ll go elsewhere.”

“Don’t get lost if you do, alright? You’ll be the only family I’ll have left besides  _ him _ .”

“I don’t intend on it. Fuck, he’s pulling up. I’ll talk to you later and don’t get yourself killed, alright?”

“I won’t, man. Love ya, Bub.”

“Love you too, you big asshole.”


	20. Nested - Part 2.6

“Hey Marcus, wanna play some vidya?” Michael called out across the small barracks room of Hawk. Marcus took in a deep sigh, noticing that they had somehow sourced a game console from somewhere and he did not want to really know how or even  _ where _ they got it from in the first place. He couldn’t help himself, though.

“Remy, for the love of God, where the fuck did you get that damned thing?” The team leader asked while eyeing the older PlayStation 3 sitting before a fairly well-sized tv.

“I may or may not have… negotiated for it with some of the CIF ground crews on base,” Michael replied. A sharp smile came to plaster the face of the packrat and the tan flight suits of the rest of the team as the sun began its descent into evening, the orange sunlight yet to be impeded by the tall trees surrounding the small airbase.

Marcus just shook his head in response before replying while making a cup of coffee. “So, that means either you stole it or you traded off something that I told you not to fuck with, Remy.” He turned his head towards him in the manner of a disappointed father and carried on, saying― “Which was it?”

The packrat averted Marcus’s gaze, perhaps knowing what kind of trouble he was about to find himself in. “I may, or may not, have traded some of our snacks and extra money off for it,” Michael said meekly. The room went quiet for a moment as the only thing that could be heard was the sound effect of some street racing game and the sputtering of Marcus’s coffee being poured by the small coffee maker.

“You  **_what?_ ** The  _ one _ fucking thing I told you not to fuck with was the extra money we brought with us as an emergency fund and you used it to buy a fucking game console?!”

“We get to keep it, thoouugghh! It’s ours to keep!” The small man tired arguing back, but the only thing he achieved was sounding like a small spoiled child instead.

“That doesn’t fix the fact that you went against my orders again, you little shit.” The leader brought his attention back to his now freshly poured coffee, grumbling as he took a small folding chair and walked towards the rest of his pilots who were crowded in a semi-circle around the tv.  _ “I fuckin’ swear, you go over my head or behind my back again during this contract…” _

“Ahh, leave him be, Taurus. Besides, this’ll help breakup the monotony of paperwork.” Andy, having claimed one of the few proper seats in the room, admonished his wingman while slapping his shoulder as he sat next to him.

“It fuckin’ better, or else he’s gonna find a boot up his ass.” Marcus was obviously, at least according to himself, joking about that fact. Though he still tried boring a hold in the back of Micheal’s head as he began on his coffee. “Which one is this anyways? The Run?”

“Sure is, boss. Though I’m still pretty shit at these games,” Michael replied.

“A consequence of your god-awful driving, I’m sure.” Marcus gave a wry smile of his own as he took a large sip of coffee, making sure that this time it really was cooled down before the first sip. “If you want me to get past this point for you, just ask.”

“No way! I’m not gonna let you carry me through this section, I’ve almost got it…” Again, much like a disappointed father, Marcus watched as the packrat of the team crashed into a civilian vehicle, robbing him of his last checkpoint and requiring a restart of the race section. “Fuck’s sake!”

Andy took his turn to shake his head this time before turning to Marcus. “Your talk with Iling go alright?”

“Yea, he said he didn’t know who Gyr was at all. He apparently had never heard about them in Oceania and he thought it was pretty damned odd that they were using our frequency as well, but nothing else really. Sounds like he’s been kept busy since he left Prey.”

Andy nodded his head in response this time. However, he didn’t appear to be satisfied with the answer that was provided. “Nothing else?”

“Nothing else. I didn’t try and dig around in his head anymore because he sounded like he genuinely didn’t know anything else. That, and it sounded like he was busy with a kid― probably a relation of some sort,” Marcus said, once more drinking a little more coffee.

“God, him as a parent at all is almost a foreign concept enough to make my head spin,” Andy scoffed.

Marcus paused for a beat before turning back to his wingman. “Speaking of parents, you talk to your better half yet?”

“Yea, spoke with her after you stormed off. Everything’s goin’ well back home and the kid’s doing just fine. She said ‘hello’, by the way.” Andy smiled the entire time while talking about them.

“Good. I honestly need to go back to your place and have dinner with you if you’re willin’ to have me. She makes some mean― oh come on, Remy! You’re just trying to fuck with us now!” The red-haired pilot quickly got distracted after witnessing an atrocious attempt at racing from one of his pilots. Without much thought, he got up from his seat and sat his coffee down on it before grabbing the controller from a resistant Michael. “Watch and learn, Remy. Maybe then you won’t smack into every other corner and fuckin’ wall.”

For a time, Marcus and the rest of Hawk Team forgot they were even on a contract and were simply a family again, as if they were in their own barracks again back home.

* * *

**Nearly two weeks later…**

“…With the small amount of operations being conducted tomorrow, our attention is being primarily focused on patrols, which includes you, Hawk Team.” The Sergeant, once more, was leading a briefing with CENE’s orange-tinted glow on the whiteboard behind him. “Since one of the only ones will be an air intercept from AFB Armstrong against an unescorted Feddie airtrain over the Bering Straits, you’ll be taking up CAP from the northern Burning Coast to Beaver Bay. Since this is just CAP, AWACS Compass will not be accompanying you on this flight. Finally, since this is a patrol, you’ll be rolling out fully stocked in-case you run into any large amount of aircraft despite intel, however limited, indicating a fairly boring day for the Feddies as well. Any questions?”

The early morning sun failed to poke through the other side of the building as Hawk sat at the numerous tables in the briefing room. Andy and Marcus were the only ones really writing anything down while everyone else just simply sat and watched the CIF man drone on. Despite being fairly content with this, Marcus raised his hand. “What’s the details of the operation over the Bering Straits? Or are those need-to-know?”

The Sergeant looked towards the flight lead and spoke quickly. “All that I was told is that they’ll just be taking out the retreating Feds that’re trying to escape from northern Cascadia. I doubt they’ll need our help just downing simple transports, so I wouldn’t be too worried about it.”

Marcus simply shrugged, roughly writing down what he was told before speaking up a second time. “So, we’re just expecting an easy day?”

“Sure seems like it, mercenary. Just don’t get too sloppy once you’re up there because I doubt that any Feds that might meet you would give you the courtesy,” the Sergeant said tersely.

“Never planned on it, Sergeant Matthews.”


	21. Red Tailed - Part 1

“Still can’t believe that AI bullshit. How the hell does anyone expect to believe that, the fuckin’ doctor, college kid― whoever-the-fuck J. Mitchell, made an honest to God artificial intelligence? Seriously?” Garry, Hawk Team’s number 3, freely spoke with the other members since AWACS Compass was absent from this patrol, being grounded due to the perceived lack of necessity for another AWACS bird to be present.

_ Good thing they’re not on our frequency, _ Marcus thought.  _ He probably would have told us to fuckin’ can it by now. _ A long draw of breath escaped the lungs of the team leader as he looked out across the northern Pacific Ocean as they passed over the Aleutian Peninsula. The patrol they were assigned wasn’t really  _ long _ per se, but it was boring with the knowledge that even the Feds were expected to be doing a whole bunch of nothing according to their briefing. However, patrols are patrols and someone has to do them, so Hawk Team went up in the air running yet another fly-around for the Cascadians once more.  _ At least the pay’s good… _

The Pacific opened up before Marcus and his flight as he began to check his TACAN on the next waypoint which was quickly approaching. He had, for better or for worse, tuned out the ongoing conversation for a couple minutes as he gazed out to the seemingly endless ocean. Knowing that he’d have to make a call to Lancaster, who had taken himself and the greener members of their team southwards, and alert them to begin their turn north.

With the effort of an exhausted father, he keyed his microphone to talk. “Okay, we’re about―” only to get run over by his wingman who hadn’t even heard him speak.

“All I’m saying is that the ‘AI’ he’s made probably isn’t even close to what they’re writing about. You know full well that it’s probably just propaganda,” Andy said. “Especially since the UAS has been getting real buddy-buddy with the Feds over the past however many years, just like the Creole Republic, so they’ve gotta make their newest pet project look good.”

“Hey, could we―” Again, Marcus tried to interject and get the waypoint update out to his team, but again he was run over on the radio.

“I’d fuckin’ believe it at this rate, though. I mean, there’s flying airships, railguns, and so much other shit that an AI seems pretty tame at this rate.” It was Garry this time, not that it mattered because he wasn’t going to get another chance. “But yea, I’d still like to see―

“Cool talk, y’all. How about something important? Like the fact that we’re coming up on the next waypoint and need to divert north?” Marcus spoke with a sour tone that he honestly had no intention of using, but he found himself using it anyways. “I like idle chat with everyone as much as you guys, but this is a patrol and not a social gathering.”

“Sorry Taurus, you know how I am when I get going sometimes.” Andy replied with a relaxed tone, sounding like even  _ he _ had gotten comfortable with flying so many patrols. “Nothing going on, only one storm out north-west to watch out for, you know the deal. Easy day.”

“Bah, he’s just mad little miss Captain Zhukov ain’t here to tell us to shut up with that voice of hers,” Michael added with a chuckle. The remark earned him a prompt display of a middle finger from Marcus which only led to Michael laughing more before continuing on. “Aww, don’t worry Taurus. Word spreads quick around Tok, so half of the base probably already knows about your little crush.”

“Fuck. Off. Remy. Just because I was taken aside to talk to her once doesn’t mean that she kissed me or some shit, god damn.” Marcus shook his head in frustration. His face felt a little…  _ red? Good thing we’re in the air, _ he thought, _ otherwise I wouldn't stop getting shit for this over the next few days _ . “Can’t even talk to a fuckin’ AWACS about our performance in combat without you fuckers hounding me about it.”

His pilots gave a spare chuckle here or there in his response, punctuated with a minor amount of audible irritation, before it finally settled down a little. It fell quiet for a moment before a rarely heard voice piped up and spoke. “Don’t worry about it boss, I’m sure she’d say yes. Ya just gotta have a little bit of… what did grandad say? Oh, ‘gusto’, that’s right.” Virginia ‘Plank’ Parks, who had barely said more than brevity codes over the past few weeks since Hawk landed in Cascadia, had just completely and utterly thrown their comms into the chaos of howling laughter with a mere ‘reassuring’ phrase, one laced with sarcasm and venom meant to poke at her team leader. Marcus didn’t need to see it, but he could  _ feel _ her shit-eating grin through the large distance, cockpit glass, and helmet mask― which all made it that more irritating for him.

The laughter continued on for some time as small bouts of dying hyena imitations spurred on further laughter when it seemed like it was going to finally die out. It took some time and Marcus didn’t want to admit it, but he found himself laughing just as hard with them for what felt like an hour, right up until he noticed they were a little past their waypoint on the TACAN that demanded a turn nothwards. With his gut on fire and his eyes dusted with tears, he keyed his radio. “Okay, okay, we ain’t a zoo… Ah, god damn… Let’s rotate for full north and we’ll get back on for the next waypoint. Taurus, adjusting. You and your flight too, Bones― oh, and reign in that damned pilot of yours too, would ya?”

“Roger, sir― pft…” Lancaster almost failed to hold in another burst of laughter before his mic cut off. Marcus smiled and shook his head in response before fully regaining his faculties and taking charge again.

He took the initiative with a short radio call and a maneuver, rolling over and pitching towards the north while the rest of his flight took their time to recover from their own chronic bouts of laughter.  _ Halfway done. Just about there for the day. _

* * *

  
  


Some time followed and silence fell once more as any further laughter was confined to cockpits rather than broadcasted over their radios. Even after what Marcus thought was enough time for them to calm down, no small talk accompanied the two flights, each pilot presumably lost in their own thoughts for once. They wouldn’t have much time left to allow their minds to wonder, though.

Marcus’s radio blared to life as the emergency channel on his radio burst to life and into his helmet’s headset. “Attention all available units, Avalanche has been called over the Bering Straits by CIF-77. I repeat, Avalanche has been called over the Bering Straits. Significant air presence of…”

If there was any room for him to jump and fall out of his ejection seat out of surprise, he would have. Instead, he hit his throttle tilting it forward. As he began pulling away and hurriedly adjusted his throttle back to where it was before, he made a call to his team. “Form up! We’ve got a call!”

“What’s up, Taurus?” Andy asked.

“That operation over the Bering Straits just got real fuckin’ hot. They called Avalanche, so it’s probably a cluster fuck by that notion,” Marcus replied. “We need to step on it now, and fast. Bones, hurry your ass up and form up! We’re gonna go full tilt once you get here.”

“Roger, on our way.” What used to be a timid voice once upon a time now responded with full confidence, though still a little quiet. “And Taurus, if it’s as bad as you think it is, are we gonna be alright?”

_ Still a bit of a worry-wart, it seemed, _ he thought. “Don’t you worry your greenhorn little head, Bones. We won’t be the only ones responding to it, so I doubt we’ll be getting swarmed. Besides, all we have to do is to make an opening for those regulars to get out of the AO. Should be the easiest paycheck we’ve gotten so far, save for the patrols.

_ After all, how bad could it be? _


End file.
